


Third at Three Collection

by Metronomeblue



Series: imagine me & you- forever [11]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bondage, Consensual Somnophilia, Depravity, Dominance, Emotional Sex, Exhibitionism, F/M, Healthy Relationships, Holding Hands, Human/Vampire Relationship, Lingerie, M/M, Master/Pet, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Other, Painplay, Pet Names, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Role Reversal, Roleplay, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Service Submission, Service Top, Sexual Roleplay, Sharing Body Heat, Somnophilia, Stockings, Submission, Suicidal Thoughts, Teasing, Trust, Voyeurism, Vulnerability, a lot of them get pretty narrative, headcanons, i know.... i know, im weeping that's already a tag, in chapter 48, kind of, like... once, pyrophilia, these will be periodically updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-03-28 11:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 63
Words: 27,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13903566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metronomeblue/pseuds/Metronomeblue
Summary: I stayed up until three AM way too often last semestera bunch of (usually nsfw) three am thoughts about the third division, with guest appearances by other people and a multitude of kinks, which vary from night to night((the pairings don't quite accurately describe, as it's usually (s/o) with they/them pronouns in the position of reader/oc))





	1. Izuru 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fall Semester was wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #I really love izuru #I want him to feel safe and warm and loved #I want him to feel protected and calm #I want him to be happy #apparently I'm a sap past 11:00 #I'm just going to start making this... a thing I guess
> 
> oh me, you had no idea

Today’s edition of Third Division Soft Sex Headcanons at Unholy Hours is about Kira because I’m a total fucking sap and I love him okay I love him

I feel like Kira would really like having a s/o who wasn’t afraid to take control, but like… softly. None of this “lie down and spread your legs you’re nothing but a breathing dildo” bullshit, I’m talking about purposeful kisses, one hand holding his so they can lead him to the bed.

I’m talking them gently pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed, hands undoing his clothes confidently, but slowly. I’m talking lying him down and kissing him, their whole body on top of his so he feels safe and loved. I’m talking long, slow, deep kisses and hands pinning his wrists, I’m talking soft smiles and soft directions.

I’m talking about someone who is sure of themselves and confident in their love for him and who will take care of him just as much as he’ll take care of them.


	2. Rose 1

Another installment of Soft Third Division Sex Headcanons at 2AM

People are always like “Rose probably fucks you to his own music” but no. Rose doesn’t want anything to cover up the sounds you make when he fucks you. No music, no background noise. All he wants to hear is you, panting and morning and groaning and gasping and saying his name, giving him directions. That’s all he wants to hear. All he ever wants to hear.


	3. Izuru 2

Listen Kira would absolutely hold hands during sex. He’d love it. It would be sweet and intimate, and tbh he’s a slut for hand holding anyway so he’d be glad. I just. Kira. Holding hands while you’re riding him. Holding hands while he’s fucking you. Holding hands while you go down on him. Holding hands while he goes down on you. He absolutely would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #he'd really love holding hands during sex #both because it's intimate and because it's an anchor #he'd really like holding your hand and letting your fingers lace together #I just... I love him #also Kira would cry during sex and I support him #kiss his tears away and hold his hands #he is so Soft in bed


	4. Gin 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long origin of Soft Sadist Gin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: blood, fire, general sadism. Slightly more detail in bottom notes
> 
> that still sounds so bad but it's actually a pretty soft tone lmao. Just in case, though.

Soft Sex Headcanons for the Third Division continue with a well-meaning semi-scenario that became a Soft Derivative of the Aizen Sex Meta tag

Listen I am 100% positive that if Gin’s s/o asked him to well and truly fuck them up, to go all out and do every twisted, vicious thing he wanted to them, he would. He would enjoy that. He would be grateful for the chance to let loose all his desires and sick, dark kinks. But I also think there wouldn’t be a single moment where he would allow anything less than absolute safety. Gin is very much tied up in self-control and self-indulgence at the same time, and I feel like it’s an integral part of who he is. He’ll do it, but he’ll do it on these terms, under these restrictions, with that caveat.

He’d sit them down beforehand, maybe a day or two early, to put rules in place. It wouldn’t be some serious face-to-face talk. He’d probably sit them down at a table or on the counter while he made dinner or something. Keep himself moving so he doesn’t focus too much on the potential for actually harming them, on the thoughts of what might go wrong. A safe word is a given, a dead stop, a pick me up and take me out of this signal. Probably something they already have because Gin is Gin is Gin and sex is no fun if there’s no risk to it. But this is a different level of risk. Gin knows himself pretty well, and he can get into some ugly shit. So he’ll probably ask for some kind of gradient too, a yes/maybe/no scale that’ll let him gauge things. His s/o probably trusts him enough to accept that whatever he’s suggesting is necessary, but if they ask he’ll just put whatever he’s holding down, cup their face between his hands and tell them with that same, wide smile, “I want your blood on the sheets, not on my hands, (s/o).”

When the time itself comes, Gin’s going to start slow, kissing them, stripping them with slow, cold hands. Laying them back on the bed. He’ll pin their wrists above their head, slide a knee up between their legs, ease them open. Split them up the middle and tie them down. He’ll kiss down their neck to their shoulder, biting lightly at the curve where it turns to their arm, raised where the muscle is straining to go where he tells it. He ties down their wrists first, stretching their arms just enough to hurt but not enough to strain. Tests how tight the bonds are, and leaves it when they nod. Ties an ankle to each corner of the bed, spreading them wide so he can see them.

Once they’re twitching and a little flushed, tied down and ready for him, that’s when he really starts in on them, testing their limits, finding the boundaries of their body. He’s got an orderly row of knives laid out, a lighter and some portrait nails with heads just the perfect size for tiny, light burns. He doesn’t gag them, because it’s the most important thing that he hears their voice. “Good?” He asks at any sound that’s particularly sharp. “Gonna need a color, sweetheart,” he croons, dragging the tip of his fingernail between the hollows of their ribs. It’s a reprieve until he gets the go-ahead, and he follows the same lines with shallow, bleeding cuts. He traces swirls, arcs and lines and patterns always following the curves and planes of their body. 

He heats the thin, thin nails, presses the heads to their shoulders, their collarbones, their breastbone. Brands his own personal galaxy into their skin. He stitches tiny letters into their thighs, pull-apart embroidery laced into the topmost layers of their skin. He fucks himself in the joint of hip-meets-thigh, spilling himself over the soft flesh of their hip, the low swoop of their stomach. He beats thin, swollen red welts into their calves, the backs of their thighs, the curve of their ass, the rise of their spine. He laps blood from their wrists and sweat from the curves of their thighs, wipes the spit from the corner of their mouth with a lazy finger. He brings himself back up, hot and heavy against their own skin, close and flickering away whenever he moves. He works them to the edge of orgasm before stepping away to torture them a little bit more, whether with his own hands or his teeth or his pretty, flashing blades. 

And always, always, the smooth drawl, low purr of may I? Can I? Would you like? and any no is respected, any yes gleefully indulged, any hesitance greeted with a quiet, short elaboration. Always, Gin’s hands rubbing soothingly up their sides, slick with sweat and blood, and his voice gentle in their ear. I like, you look, you taste, I can feel, you’re so, oh, pretty thing. Oh, pretty, sweet, delectable thing. It gets to be so much, so much that they feel he might swallow them whole. Devour them into himself and carry them with him forever, make them his.

It’s when they lose touch on reality, when they drift, aimless and soft and aching, wanting only his touch, his voice, his pleasure to satiate them by proxy, that is when he actually fucks them. He kisses them, lays himself out over them to feel the marks he’s made under his body, feel their blood and sweat and his own come against his skin. He fucks them hard, harsh and deep, slow and long. Their panting, breathless sounds are what drives him to the edge, what makes him come again. The warmth of them under him, feverish with his work. The faint attempts at rising to meet him, despite their exhaustion. The rasp of his name off their lips, what little voice they have left calling for him. He hilts himself inside them and comes, spills heavy and burning into them, and they gasp.

He’ll work their orgasm out of them gently, fingers slick with his own come, touch soft but knowing, pulling them over with a satisfied hum and a proud appraisal. “Well aren’t you perfect?” He murmurs, looking at their release mixed with his on his fingers. “Perfect and pretty and sweet. Nothin’ more I could ask for.”

He unties them first, hands wiped clean on a towel he probably had nearby for that very purpose. Brings their arms down slowly, rubs the feeling back into them with deft hands and an experienced touch. Undoes the blindfold, but leaves it over their eyes in case they’ve grown sensitive. Frees their ankles next, and watches with a small frown when they can’t quite manage the energy to bring their legs back together. He lifts their legs, brings them together in the middle, lowering them slowly, too. He asks a few questions, easy things. What’s my name, what’s your name, you okay? When he’s satisfied by their answers, he nods, takes off the blindfold, brushes the hair off of their face. Lets them blink back into reality looking up at him, when a smile lights their face at the sight of him, he smiles back and presses a kiss to their nose. “This is gonna be the hard part,” he warns them, thumb brushing at their cheek fondly. 

“I gotta put you back together, sweet thing.” And he does. He pulls out a first aid kit, a bowl of warm water, a few towels. He wipes them down first, clears away the blood and sweat and his come. He’s careful not to go against the cuts, careful not to cause them any unnecessary pain. He dabs at the mess between their legs, sighs and resigns himself to having to wipe it away. They squirm under him, still sensitive and wet and sore. “I know, chickadee, I know,” he soothes them, brushing a hand lightly over the top of one thigh, still bleeding. He begins to patch them up, which also means more cleaning. The hisses and soft whimpers at the sting of the disinfectant make him wince a little, because fuck if he didn’t go far this time. He bandages each cut and wound and budding scar. Soothes each star-like burn with cream and covers it with gauze. Cleans each rising, burning welt, wraps the swirls of tiny cuts across their chest and torso. Presses a kiss to each one. He cleans their face last, wiping away the sweat and spit and tears streaking clear and sticky on their face. “There now, sweetheart,” he says, pressing kisses to their forehead, their cheeks, the places where he knows their tears once lay. “All fixed.”

He curls around them, arms twined warm and soothing around their waist, pointy little nose pressed into their hair, smile curving against the back of their head. The heat of his body is soothing on all their hurts, even his usually cold hands and nose and feet warm, twined around them like a haven of warmth and him. Their exhaustion wins out over their soreness, and they relax further into his embrace. 

“Thank you,” he says, when he knows they’re long asleep. “It was perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #This is it's own special brand of Fucked Up #but a sweeter one I think #I KNOW I'VE HARPED ON ABOUT THIS BUT I REALLY WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT #BECAUSE GIN IS SO HEAVILY ASSOCIATED WITH SADISM #BUT LIKE A REALLY BAD SHADE OF IT #AND I CANNOT SEE IT #I CAN'T SEE THE CHILD WHO SWORE AN ETERNAL UNENDING REVENGE QUEST FOR HIS FRIEND AFTER SHE'D BEEN ATTACKED #(IN A MANNER HEAVILY CODED AS SEXUAL ASSAULT) #REPEATING THE ACTIONS OF HER ATTACKERS #ESPECIALLY NOT TOWARDS SOMEONE HE LOVES #I SIMPLY CAN'T #because this is getting ridiculous and I'd apologize if i didn't believe it so much #Gin loves and takes care of his partner 2k17 #One day I will convince you all #One day #this got long for no reason other than I have Hella Feelings on this topic #blood kink #i.. have no idea what half these things are called #but i'll do my best bc potential triggers abound in just about everything I write for the shiftier members of the Unholy Trinity lmao #branding #kind of? it's not nearly that hardcore #pyrophilia #all of these sound so harsh but really Gin is just a Soft Sadist


	5. Gin 2

Anonymous: if i can be honest with you, i also share the idea of soft!sadist gin! he's the kind of guy who loves to take you apart, but he loves putting you back together more. i also feel like, if he found someone he could trust, he would want to be taken apart as well? like he has so much riding on him, he just wants to let someone else take over for a bit. he'd still be a super bratty sub though

_______

Yes!! More Soft Sadist Gin in the world!

I agree. I definitely feel like Gin’s really into the aftercare. Like, the sex itself, the pain and the pleasure and the mind games that get you there- that’s amazing. It’s awesome, and he loves it, but nothing tops taking care of you when you’re done. It’s just really nice, to be the one patching you up, cleaning you off, pressing kisses to your cheeks whenever you make a cute noise. It makes him feel needed, and wanted, and necessary. He also likes knowing you’re taken care of, so it gives him a sense of control and satisfaction to know that he’s the one doing it. Gin’s the kind of guy who spent a lot of time pretending he didn’t give a damn, and to a certain extent I think maybe he didn’t, but i also think that when he finds someone he loves, that devotion is deep. It’s undying. There is nothing in the world he wants more than for his s/o to feel safe and warm and loved, because he does love them, and that gentle period after rough sex is a perfect time to show it. 

Honestly i just can’t get over the image of Gin sitting on the bed across from his s/o, bandaging their wounds with his little serious face on. Because it’s important. And his s/o will yawn or something and he’ll crack a real smile, small and quick, before he starts teasing them about how he tired them out. And all the time he’s doing his best to put them back together, his grip on them light and his touch so, so gentle. I just. Too good. Too good.

I feel like he also really loves the ache of after. The sting that hits you when you reach for something and your wrist twinges where he tied you down last night, the burn between your legs where he fucked you, the ache of your singed fingertips on cold metal. He likes knowing you’re reminded not only of how well he hurt you, but also how well he fixed you up after. It’s the best of both worlds, so to speak.

Oh god, he’d be an infuriating sub. At least in the beginning. He’d be grinning the whole time, making jokes, just generally being a dork about everything. But domming him is about… well, domming him. You have to put him in his place a little, show him that you’re taking this seriously, and you’re taking him seriously. If he trusts you enough to sub for you, he’ll trust you enough to do as you ask. And it’s probably better if you do ask. He’s harsh when he takes control, but always considerate. Be softer, strong and firm, but kind. Brush a hand through his hair, pull it just enough to tilt his head. Kiss him, insist on taking all of his attention, take control of him. He’ll quiet down a little, probably still smiling, but more tension has left him. He’s loose, soft under you, and the more you take charge, the happier he’ll be. You definitely have it right about his having so much pressure on him- he’d like to let go and just be taken care of a little. To be used and treated however you see fit, with no need for a decision from him. He’s had to make an awful lot of decisions. Having the choice be someone else’s is a relief, even if that choice is just who’s doing what in bed.

Whatever you do to him, take care of him after, the way he does for you. Patch him up, clean him off, indulge him in long, slow kisses with your hands pressing down on his chest and his hands tied above his head. If he has even a small scratch, take care of it. Not only is it a sweet thing to do, it reinforces to him that you feel the same for him as he does for you. Taking care of you is one of the foremost ways he shows his love. If you do the same, he’ll be so happy. He’ll take it as a sure sign that you really love him, and he will be incorrigible for days after.

“You love me,” he jokes, and you roll your eyes.

“I’ve literally told you that,” you say.

“Yes, but you love me.”


	6. Gin 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just now realizing how heavily Gin featured in these   
> what a menace

Soft Sadist Gin is haunting me so let’s do this again

I feel like Gin would be into roleplay. It’s a nice way for him to express stuff through a different lens. Like if he’s acting like someone else he can say things or do things he wouldn’t normally. I mean right now especially I can totally see him getting his s/o to dress up in a cute maid outfit and him kitting up as the ~lord of the manor~ or something equally pompous and removed from his own origins- and then spend the whole time telling them how grateful he is for their “service” and how he can’t stop thinking about them when they’re near him. When he says “service,” he means their presence in his life, and when he tells them they haunt him he means he could never forget them. The sweetness without sarcasm, the words without layers, they’re things he can say when he isn’t himself, and he means every word.

It’s a different kind of pain, I think, to know your s/o loves you and to know also that he will never say it without putting on a mask first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #THAT TIME AGAIN #FUCK ME UP WITH EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED BUT DEEPLY LOVING GIN #he can't SAY it but by god does he FEEL it #and it's a kind of torture for him to say it at all then #but his s/o knows to take what they can #so they close their eyes and try not to cry #and he kisses their tears away murmuring 'I love you I love you I love you' #and there's nothing better and there's nothing worse #I like feeling soft and sad at 3:44 in the morning


	7. Gin 4

Today’s soft sadist Gin headcanon is really just piggybacking on yesterday’s

I am still 100% certain Gin is into role playing. I’m also 100% certain that he likes hearing his own name. He likes being on a certain kind of even ground with his s/o, so even if that night they’re his pet, his servant, even if he’s completely in control of them, even if he  _owns them,_ he wants them to call out his name. I don’t think it matters where he is or what role his s/o is playing- if they’re in Soul Society or Hueco Mundo, if he’s their Captain or Ichimaru-sama, it doesn’t matter. That’s not what he wants to hear when the time comes. At his mercy or under his thumb, when they’re just seconds from coming, he’ll pause. “You know that’s not what I’m looking for,” he’ll chastise them. “What’s my name?” And it’s a little bit just him being a brat about things and taking that last chance to tease them, but it’s also a line he likes to draw. Whoever he’s being when he’s working them up, hurting them or punishing them or teasing them, it’s always  _Gin_ who makes them come. It’s  _Gin_  who gives them pleasure and takes care of them after. There are so few clear lines in his life, it’s nice to have one he made for himself. And sometimes it’s just really nice to hear them wailing and gasping out his name after a night of wearing a different one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #listen.... the thoughts I have.... #I mean tbh this came about bc I was thinking of how hard it would be for Gin to keep his s/o safe and sane in Hueco Mundo #but then I was like 'how kinky would he get with the whole Ichimaru-sama thing?' #a lot. the answer is a lot. #Gin would absolutely spend a night leading his s/o around on a leash and calling them names and forcing them to call him Ichimaru-sama #but the moment he felt that line he'd get all sweet #'you know what I wanna hear' he says with that wide wide smile #'Ichimaru-sama?' they'd guess and he laughs #'nothin that formal stardust' and it wouldn't be too long before they're crying out his name and he's feeling all soft and tingly because it never fails to make him happy #he just really loves knowing his s/o is satisfied and happy and safe with him #because he might be one kinky fucker with a list of victims a mile long #but at the end of the day unlike Aizen Gin really does think of his s/o as a true equal #he never wants to see himself above them #he's spent so long watching Aizen that he is definitely not going to make the same mistakes #anyway I just have a lot of feelings about Gin and varying levels of intimacy with his s/o


	8. Rose 2

Honestly I feel like Rose would be one of those guys who had a lot of one-night stands but was still super interested in them? Like he would travel around and sleep with different people all the time but if you asked him now he could still tell you what they looked like and how they talked and what they did and what they liked in bed. I just feel like he’d genuinely care about his partners no matter how short their time together was


	9. Izuru 3

Today’s soft sex headcanons are:

Izuru would definitely cry a little in bed. First of all because it’s easier to let out your feelings- and the poor boy has  _a lot_  of feelings- after or during sex. It’s a very open, vulnerable thing. But also because having so much good sensation, so much pleasure and softness and connection might be kind of overwhelming to him. He’s so used to the darkness of life, the sadness and bloodshed and despair, that so much good might be hard to process for him. It could seem a little unreal. Too good to be true. He might just be overcome with so much feeling that a tear or two break free. That’s good. that’s fine. Kiss them away and brush his hair from his face. Let him cry. There are worse things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Kira would 100% cry during sex and i support him tbh #he'd stop after a while #but for a bit it would still be a Lot #and he might weep a little against his will #why do people shame each other for crying during sex #i think it would be nice to feel that much #ever #in your life #but maybe that's because i'm empty inside and craving human connection #maybe it's just me #who knows


	10. Izuru 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FRECKLES

**Anonymous**  asked:

Ok hear me out Izuru but with freckles.

_____

Listen, this is… a Blessed Image. Heavenly.

Izuru is such a stupidly insecure little muffin that he’d probably try to cover them up. They’re not common in the Seireitei, and they make him look so  _young_. So once he’s out of academy and he’s trying to seem like a soldier he probably tries really hard to make them less obvious. 

Izuru being super shy about how much his freckles stand out. Izuru covering up so he doesn’t get any more. Izuru putting on ridiculous amounts of sunscreen in the hope that it will change things. Izuru wearing long sleeves all the time. Izuru letting his hair fall over his face so at least half of his freckles are covered. Izuru hating that he looks so childish because of them. He looks like the innocent he used to be, and he hates it.

I feel like Momo (who not only looks young herself, but spends a lot of time with Toshiro) would respect his feelings, but also try to encourage him to embrace them. Renji, Mr. I’m-Going-To-Tattoo-My-Everywhere just shrugs and says he can do what he likes. Shuhei just sighs and says something about how he should do what feels appropriate because he’s a Lieutenant, and he has that to think about. Gin probably called them sweet, which he maybe meant as a compliment, but likely only made things worse.

Izuru’s s/o kissing all the freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, his shoulders and his arms. Izuru’s s/o drawing constellations on him while he sleeps, connecting them with their fingers or lines of black or blue or red ink. Izuru’s s/o just touching them in bed, running their hands over them and tracing lines through them. Izuru’s s/o being unashamedly in love with all the the strange little things about him. Izuru’s s/o telling him, every now and then, that they really like his freckles. That they’re beautiful.

I feel like maybe as time goes by he gets less self-conscious. Rose probably helps a lot, too. Rose is the kind of guy who runs around doing his best to lower the collective inhibitions of the entire division. Izuru cuts his hair, wears his uniform more loosely, rolls up his sleeves more often. His s/o is thrilled. On the one hand, more freckles exposed. On the other, Izuru is clearly beginning to accept himself more. A win-win for everyone involved. 

Also becomes much more accepting of his s/o’s compliments regarding them. Where before he might just sort of sigh and turn away, he now blushes a little and tries to stammer out a thank you before they kiss him. Where before their touches were tolerated, light and admiring, fond and gentle on his star-dusted skin, now they’re welcomed shyly. He tries to open himself to their regard, to see what they see in him. They sit behind him sometimes, their arms looped loosely around his neck, pressing kisses to the freckles scattered over his neck, the backs of his shoulders, the stretch of his upper back. They trace the patterns of sun-darkened skin out and down, their fingers soft and warm on him. He feels warm under their hands, like something shot through with gold they way they sometimes try to tell him he is. He feels love in every tiny star on his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i LOVE IT #I LOVE HIM #I'M GONNA CRY #FRECKLES #I LOVE FRECKLES #I LOVE IZURU #WHOEVER SENT ME THIS IS DOING THE LORD'S WORK #this got long because i have Feelings and I'm lonely and it's Halloween and I didn't get to do anything


	11. Rose/Izuru/(s/o) 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone asked me about a Rose/Izuru/s/o polyamorous relationship and... god, what a gift. It's still a favorite of mine.

For today’s soft sex headcanon at entirely unreasonable hours of the night, I’m looping back to the Kira/s/o/Rose relationship because I love it

I feel like their first time together was a little awkward. Not just because they were all new to each other’s bodies and they weren’t sure how to proceed, but because there were three of them and all of them kind of went oh fuck that’s right

Like I’m sure they literally just sat side-to-side on the edge of the bed for a moment before Rose scoffed and went, “fine” and just fucking went for it with s/o, because Izuru might be shy, but he’s a bit of a voyeur and nothing makes him hot like watching his s/os go at it. Because I’m willing to bet that Rose had a vision. And so when everyone was suitably warmed up and panting a little, he started choreographing.

“No, put your hand there,” he said, accidentally kicking Izuru in the shin. “Your leg goes there, mine goes here,” he said, accidentally stepping on s/o. It was… a bit of a disaster, and Rose actually ended up on top of Izuru with s/o half-under his legs and half-over him. There was a moment of silence… and then laughter. Izuru laughed, and actually smiled, and the other two couldn’t even be upset because it was just so lovely.

“This is stupid,” Rose said, about his own plan.

And everything after was easy. Rose’s long, quick fingers undoing Izuru’s uniform, s/o distracting him with kisses up his jaw and hands over every new inch of skin. Izuru, just as intent and confident, stripping his captain down because fair is fair. S/o being set upon by two long-armed blondes.

It was, in the end, quite nice. Slow, soft kisses on every precious piece of skin and bone, hands getting used to the feeling of other bodies, nerves lighting up under the dedicated caresses of at least three other hands and two mouths and so so much love. So much quiet, bashful laughter and grateful smiles. Hours lazing in a pile of limbs and combing through each other’s hair, dozing and cuddling and holding hands. Short, sweet kisses and grumbling about being left out until the complainer was stifled by two smiling mouths.

But Rose never does hear the end of it. At least once a year, on New Year’s or Valentines Day or some other holiday where both s/o and Izuru are given access to enough alcohol, they gleefully tell the first part of the story to anyone who will listen.

“Put you hand there,” they mock. “He thought my hand would even fit there, the man had to be having eye trouble!”

The first part of the story is told fondly, retold year-after-year until the words are worn and fond and the only sting is that he can’t go back and do it all again, bright and soft and so full of love that neither of them ever feels alone. The first part is testimonial, tried and true on the tongues of three lovers and those who know them best.

The second part is a precious, fragile thing which remains between them. Always and only between them.


	12. Gin 5

Today’s soft sex headcanon at ungodly hours:

I said before that Gin would be willing to sub for his s/o, because he trusts them and he trusts that he can put himself in their hands and not worry. I feel like Gin would also be really good for his s/o if they weren’t ready to sub themselves. If they just weren’t there yet. He’d direct them softly from his position under them, teasing them, teaching them.

Letting his s/o be in the position of power, (even if he’s still the one holding all the power), and letting them understand what he’s thinking of when he’s in their position, letting them see whether or not they can play either role- he’d be good at that. Just the right blend of seriousness and brattiness, telling them in that calm voice how to tie his arms and then saying not five minutes later in a very fake tone to make them laugh “you’re cutting off my circulation.”

Letting them ride him or fuck him or whatever because he’s open to a lot and he trusts them. He’s just making sure they trust him. That they can make their own choices in the relationship and in bed and not be bowed by his rank or status in Las Noches. Nothing is more upsetting to him than the idea that he might have forced someone into bed with him on accident. He’d be so horrified by the implications, let alone the effects of it on his s/o. I feel like Gin would just be one of those people who is so deeply invested in helping his s/o be comfortable and happy in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i feel like gin is one of those people who'd be super gentle with his s/o while hes finding their limits and what they like #hed be so careful about it #asking all kinds of questions #trying new things #never putting any pressure on his s/o #being very careful about their experience and limits #if gin's s/o was a virgin he'd honestly be that boy who pauses every few seconds and is like 'u okay?' #'everything good?' #'if you say stop we'll stop' #i cry
> 
> lmao okay but looking back at these tags, you know he'd keep doing it just to annoy his s/o  
> "maybe we should stop"  
> "are you sure about this" and they're just rolling their eyes  
> "no offence, dear, but please just fuck me."


	13. Gin/Izuru/s/o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha. ha. this one still hurts.

Today’s increasingly late soft sex headcanon is not really soft because I am actual, literal garbage:

Honestly I feel like a poly relationship with Izuru and Gin would just be a mass of emotional masochism and uncertainty from Izuru and s/o, and then increasingly deep love and understanding as Izuru starts to feel like he’s on level ground, like he can express things and act and be listened to. As s/o begins to trust that they aren’t the third wheel, that they’re wanted here and as vital to the relationship as the other two. As Gin slowly grows more comfortable, letting more and more softness show, giving more of himself than he perhaps means to. It’s something awkward and unexpected and darkly, hopelessly beautiful.

The night before Aizen fakes his death and everything really begins to go to shit, Gin takes Izuru and s/o to bed and really, truly makes love to them. Nothing sharp except his regret and his teeth, nothing painful except the knowledge of what’s to come and the press of his hands on their hips, their wrists, their throats. He is fleeting and gentle, tracing the lines of their faces, their bodies, one last time before they begin to hate him. He kisses their cheeks, their eyelids, their mouths with a strange, uncomfortable softness that terrifies them because Gin doesn’t show that much feeling at once. He doesn’t know how.

They don’t know what this is, don’t quite understand why he clutches at them like he wants to crawl into their bones, why he fucks them like he’ll never get another night, why his kisses taste like blood and salt and sadness. Why his hands shake on their bodies and his mouth whispers words they can’t hear into their hips. It feels like _I’m sorry_ , but they don’t know.

They don’t ask. He wouldn’t say. Instead they push him down on his back and return the favor, try to reassure him. Izuru is more forceful than ever, hands pressing his captain into the bed as if he can anchor him there, trap him and keep him and save him. Eyes like cold shards of the sky, soft and constant. S/o is reassuring, kisses on his cheeks like flower petals, cool, solid hands brushing down his sides. They tether him to their hearts, weave him into their souls, and he thanks them even as in his head he screams and begs for them to let go before he breaks them.

When he leaves they fall together, crying into each other’s shoulders, arms wrapped and grasping at each other’s backs. They still have each other but it isn’t right. There should be a third person there, in the space between them, quicksilver and glass, but there isn’t. They have each other, but it isn’t enough. They fuck and they weep and they hold each other but there’s a half heart missing between them and there’s nothing, nobody who can fill that hole except for the man who left them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i make myself sad #its just so sad #i have so many feelings about this #and so many thoughts #especially on the subject of why gin treated izuru the way he did in canon #and why that might be different here #maybe #idk #its 5:30 AM im going the fuck to bed now #crying


	14. Izuru 6

I feel like Izuru would be such a good dom? Like he seems like a sweet, soft sub all the time, but when you put the boy on a battlefield he’s all iron and blood. I feel like in bed he’d end up somewhere in the middle. 

Soft, thorough spankings, evenly delivered and carefully measured so that his s/o will be sore for days. Light bondage like silk scarves and thin, sheer fabric. His hands on his s/o’s thighs, spreading them open gently, but firmly. No debate, no discussion. He’ll never go too far, but once he’s decided how far to go there’s no arguing with him.

He’d be so cold and unreadable once he was in the moment, that face even and immovable. His s/o would feel a thrill of nervousness when they saw him, a sharp stab of ‘what if what if what if’ but his hand on their stomach, their shoulder, their chin would be light, tilting them to face him. “Green?” he’d ask, and the calm softness of his voice would be reassuring. They’d answer affirmatively, and he’d reward them for their bravery. He’d make them come more times than they knew they could, make them count the strokes of his hand on their skin. He’d be exacting but kind, firm but soft, loving but cold.

Loving, though. Definitely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #ice cold dom Kira with soft warm hands and sweet aftercare #i love
> 
> I distinctly remember someone bringing up after this that I wrote about people being doms a lot and I was like "bitch. fair." and then wrote something about people subbing just to rub it in.


	15. Rose 3

Today’s soft sex headcanon is much softer than the last few:

I feel like Rose would be one of those guys who finds out about his kinks by accident. Like one day he saw someone tied to a tree in a completely non-sexual situation and was like “nice” and then had to kind of check in with himself because??? What was that?? And then he comes home to his s/o and is all “would you like it if I tied you up” and his s/o just kind of looks at him.

“I wouldn’t be  _opposed_  to it,” they say, thinking it over.

And so after a while it’s kind of a joke between them. Rose will go to work and come back with a new, out-of-the-blue thing for them to try. And of course sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s fun and intriguing and they get to know what each other likes and doesn’t like in a nice, relatively harmless way. And if someone else is there when Rose comes home, they’re in for an interesting hello.

“Do you think feathers are kinky?”

(Only if you’re fucking on an entire nest of them. And they do cling a little after.)

“What about sex outside?”

(Depends on the location.)

“How do you feel about tying me up?”

(Positively, as it turns out)

“Do you think knives are a step too far?”

(Not if they’re careful.)

“Would like to tie me up with guitar strings this time? I can’t get the image out of my head.”

(A little difficult and unwieldy, but not terrible.)

The day Rose strode in while his s/o was talking to Shuhei, dropped a bag from a sex shop on the table and asked simply “Nipple clamps?” will forever live in the memories of everyone involved.

(Still a good move. Rose has  _very_  sensitive nipples, as it turns out.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one still makes me laugh tbh


	16. Rose 4

Today’s soft sex headcanons come from yesterday because I can’t get it out of my head

Rose is an absolutely beautiful sub. He likes not having to make decisions, likes letting his partner surprise him. It lets him be the observer, the focus of the whole thing rather than the orchestrator, and that’s a position he doesn’t often get to be in.

He likes lying back under his partner, tied down with something pretty and gauzy, a ring settled around the base of his cock to keep him in suspense. He likes being spread open, done with as his partner wishes, moved and used and wrung dry with pleasure. He likes when his partner teases him to the edge, strokes softly up his chest to press down on his windpipe, forces sensation out of him he had no idea he could feel. 

He likes when his partner strokes over his nipples, bites and sucks at the sensitive flesh and then clamps them, leaves him in a state of almost, of anticipation and unfulfilled pleasure. He likes when his partner turns him over onto his stomach, raises red welts on his thighs, his ass, the fade of his lower back. He likes being bound in all sorts of positions, manipulated and displayed at his partner’s discretion- their pleasure. He likes being a passive observer of himself, powerless in the loving hands of his partner. 

He likes knowing that the whole next day he can press a few fingers to his neck and feel the ache of their hand under his. He likes knowing that sitting will burn and sting, remind him every time of the varying shades of pink and red skin, heated under their cool touch. He likes knowing that his uniform will weigh heavy on shoulders tinted pink by a riding crop, likes knowing his nipples will be raised again in sensitivity every time his uniform brushes them just right. It feels like being possessed, like arms wrapped around his neck and a mouth pressed hard over his.

It feels like a love note from his partner, a constant, intimate whisper of them in his skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Apparently in my head rose is super into bondage lmao #i feel like he'd be open to a lot #very open-minded #try everything once kinda guy #very nsfw #i feel like i never do enough for rose #which is a Shame tbh


	17. Izuru 7

Today’s soft sex headcanon with the third division returns to dom Izuru because I have Thoughts

I feel like he’d be a better dom than he’d expect, all clear-cut rules and rewards, punishments and check-ins. He’d be so careful, precise and exacting. There would be no doubt in his s/o’s mind. He’d wind them up and spin them out and drive them mad with his touch.

But Izuru also has a powerful streak of self-loathing and doubt once he’s out of the heat of the moment. As we see after his fight with Momo, the poor boy is clawing at his own face in distress. He’s not okay with himself, and I’d bet especially not with what he’s into. He’s a soft person, generally, all shyness and protocol and observation, but get him in bed and he’s hard and cold as ice.

And I don’t think he’d be okay with that. I think he’d be distressed sometimes, more than a little horrified at how he gets off on his partner’s pain, their pleasure, their subservience and humiliation. He’d fall back from them, wondering what kind of person he is for loving the hitch in his s/o’s breathing when he presses his palm to their chest, the way they gasp when he fucks them hard, fiercely into the mattress, the way they arch into the way he hurts them.

He’d step away after cleaning them up, after putting them back together and healing the hurts he’d caused. He’d retreat, or try to. His s/o would be better off not letting him, catching his sleeve and leading him back to bed. Curling up beside him, allowing him to seek comfort in their touch. Stroking a hand through his hair.

“Am I a monster?” He asks into the pillow, and their hand in his hair doesn’t pause.

“No.” They shift, pulling him up to lie beside them and let them kiss his face. They kiss his mouth, his cheeks and forehead and the thin, bird-like bones of his wrist. “You’re wonderful,” they say, kissing his knuckles. “You give me everything I need. You’re so good o me,” they murmur, gathering him into their arms. “You always bring me so much happiness. You give me peace. Pleasure.”

“I hurt you,” he whispers. “And I like it.”

“So do I,” they say, kissing his cheekbone again. “And that’s good.” He clings to them, soft and thin with what he thinks of himself, but he smiles when they whisper their thanks. He smiles when they kiss his neck. He smiles when he thinks of them, of the soft curve of their body, the firm press of his hands on their skin, the bruises of his kiss sharp on their thinnest skin. Of their breathy sighs and welcoming smiles. He smiles when he sees the way they trace the bruises after, half fascination and half awe. When he sees that they mean what they say, that he’s no monster for giving them what they need- what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i see people talk about subdrop a lot #but not so much topdrop #which is interesting #my housemates and i ended up engaged in an interesting discussion about the daddy kink tonight #which really just ended with me resolving that it was Not At All My Thing and looking at lists of kink terminology online #and i was reading about topdrop and i was like... this is Izuru #This is exactly Izuru #poor bab needs to be reassured that he's not sick for enjoying what he does #I feel like it's important to know that as long as you're holding to ssc and rack you're probably doing good


	18. Izuru 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyeurism to the Max

Today’s horrifyingly late soft sex headcanon from the third division:

Izuru’s definitely a voyeur. In a poly relationship, few things make him as hot as watching his partners together. In a couple, seeing his s/o pleasure the self is a whole other kind of experience for him. Not only does it give him the opportunity to watch from the outside, to see every exquisite detail of the people he loves when they’re coming apart, but there’s also an element of inclusion, of strange, distant intimacy.

For all that he’s not the one touching them, he’s the audience. They’re doing this for themselves and for him, and regardless of whether or not he’s physically involved, he is very much present. They might turn their head to look at him, might adjust themselves so he has a better view, might smile at the way his knuckles go white on his knees. They might arch their back and moan and sigh and whisper his name.

There’s also something about the idea of it being unwilling that makes him light up with a secretive, shameful flush. The idea, the fantasy, even if it is just fantasy, of his s/o doing it only for themselves, no idea he’s watching. That maybe he’s spying on them, watching them do things they don’t want anyone to see. He’s never bring it up because it’s disrespectful and would honestly be kind of a creepy thing to do in reality. But sometimes he imagines, hands twitching on his thighs, his s/o’s hands coated in their own arousal and delving between their legs, grazing their chest and touching their nipples, that he’s invisible to them. That they’re pleasing only themselves.

It’s just a matter of time before he can’t hold himself back. When he gives in, stands and strides to the bed and grasps his s/o’s hair and chin and turns their head enough to kiss them, the game truly begins, and in a trio or a couple, his s/os will be outright ravished. Kissed and bitten and fucked and  _touched_ , so much, so fervently it’s like he’s trying to make up for the time he spent just watching.

He kisses their face all over after, strangely open and energetic, a smile returning and returning to his mouth between kisses. He’ll thank them, with a bright, ecstatic grin. He’ll be more tactile, more openly affectionate, as though by holding back he’s flipped some switch that lets out all his love at once. “Thank you for doing that,” he’ll say. “You have no idea how good it was. How good you were.” His s/o is a little bemused, but soaks up all the love and tries to give as much back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #kira is an observer #loves to watch #has a weird thing about being excluded but still included #idk #i love him


	19. Rose 5

Today’s third division soft sex headcanon is some Rose filth because why not

Rose is one of those men who enjoys long, slow sex. He’ll find a way to make things last an hour, maybe two on the rare occasion he’s so worked up he can’t think of anything else. He’ll tie his s/o’s hands so they can’t rush things, spread them out under him and fill his senses with them. The sounds they make as he kisses his way down their neck, their chest. The moans and pants when he settles between their legs. The sight of their body, all his to observe and appreciate, like the finest art. The taste of their lips, their skin, the nectar between their legs. The feeling of their skin on his, their hair under his fingers, the heat of them on his tongue, the soft wisps of breath when he’s inches from kissing them. The salt scent of their sweat, glittering on their face, their collarbones, their chest.

He gorges himself on their body, the pleasure he wrings from them. He burns the ache from his bones with the warmth of them, forgets the sadness of the day in the way they breathe his name. He thrusts into them with long, deep strokes, taking his time, getting as much as he can from every moment. He works them up for ages, brings them to the edge over and over until he finally snaps and spills himself inside them, panting into their shoulder words of love and beauty.

When it’s over, when they’ve washed the sweat and spit and come from themselves, Rose curls around his s/o, like a sated, exhausted cat. He smiles into their skin, limbs tangled around them like briars. They fall asleep like that, soft and warm and worn out so gently that it didn’t hurt at all.


	20. Izuru 9

Today’s sentimental sex headcanon for the lovely third division:

Go down on Izuru. Like, honestly, that’s it. Give the boy some pleasure that’s only for him. Touch him with gentleness and intent. Worship him. Show him he’s loved with your hands and teeth and tongue. Pull him apart and unwind all the tension inside of him. Prove the point that you want to  _give_  instead of take. That his pleasure is enough for you, and he doesn’t always need to prove his love to you.

Make him come and then lie down beside him, with no expectation of his reciprocation or his thanks. Run a hand through his hair, kiss his cheeks. If he starts to ask, kiss him to shut him up and smile. You do it because you love him. Because it’s enough sometimes to make him feel better, to watch him gasp and moan under your touch, to watch a tear slip from the corner of his eye. To taste his come and feel him shudder, to run a hand over his stomach and press a kiss to his hip.

Sometimes it’s enough to know you’ve given him a fraction of reassurance, a moment of certainty, a second where he truly understood that you care for him. Love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #he's so caught up in his own issues it never occurs to him that maybe they arent issues #i feel like oral is such a one-sided thing that it would serve as a testament to how you feel for him #if you can be satisfied with making him come and nothing else its a statement of its own #im so tired idk if this makes sense #its been a weird day


	21. Gin 6

today’s third division soft sex headcanon:

If Gin took his s/o with him to Hueco Mundo, there would definitely be some kind of check-in or renegotiation. He’d sit them down and let them ask him about stuff, Aizen and why he followed him here and how long he’d known. He’d ask them a few things in return, but the real point of the conversation is the last thing he asks.

“Why’d you follow me here?” He asks, watching them carefully.

“Because I love you,” they say, as if confused he even has to ask. He’s silent for a long moment.

“What would you do for me?”

“Anything,” they say, and there’s a pain in his face they can’t quite see. He shakes it away and kisses them once on each eyelid.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, pushing them down onto their bed. “But please… don’t.”

He’s gentle with them, like he was the very first time he had them, in the Captain’s quarters, what seems like a thousand years ago. He doesn’t hold them down or mark them up. He doesn’t hurt them or tease them or make them laugh like he has every night before. He fucks them slow, soft and loving like a goodbye. He moves like he’s relearning their body, tracing out their limits and sensitive spots. He finds again all their small weaknesses, the things that make their body sing with pleasure and the things that make them curl away in discomfort. He kisses them over and over and over, quick and light but never enough for him to stop. When it’s over, he pulls them so they’re half over him, head pressed into his shoulder.

“Here on in, I want you to call me Gin.”

“But Ichimaru-sama-” He shushes them with a kiss, harsh and soft and half-off to the side. When he pulls away, their face is open, wide eyes and parted lips and so trusting he has to pull them into his arms.

“None ‘a that. From now on, when it’s just you an me, it’s Gin. Just Gin.”

“Gin,” they repeat with a shy smile, and he has to flash one back, because they’re soft and lovely in his hands, and he couldn’t bear to break them now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #I feel like Gin's been in positions of power for so long he's never sure how much of his influence he's exerting on the people around him #as a third seat then a lieutenant and then a captain he was respected and feared and hated #and that was okay #and then in las noches he's Aizen's right hand man #he's one step from the throne and that's an even more difficult thing to maneuver with his particular tastes and leanings in bed #he uses his position and his strength to manipulate people #and that's at least partially on purpose #he definitely does it on purpose a lot #like when he talks to Rukia before her execution #he makes a big deal of his position even as he mocks it #because for so long before that he was nobody and nothing and now he has so #so much power #and at the same time i think he's always cognizant of that re: his loved ones #because he doesn't want to force them into anything #doesn't want to ever hurt them like that #he wakes up sometimes- heart pounding; sweat on his forehead- from dreams of his s/o kneeling subservient and empty at his feet #it's one of the most horrifying things he can imagine #he likes the edge of danger and the trust games; not the presence of actual life-threatening danger or a violation of his partner's intimacy #i have a lot of Thoughts re: Gin's relationship with power and sadism
> 
> okay but why are my tags longer than the hc itself


	22. Gin 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more potentially triggering stuff- fire, wax, branding? i guess? not really? but that's the closest thing I can think of, general pain play

Today’s soft sex headcanon with the third division:

I’ve mentioned Gin’s proclivity for the aftermath of pain before, and I think that comes out clearest when talking about how he likes heat.

He’ll take the thinnest, smallest nails and heat their heads with a lighter or a candle, press them into his s/o’s skin, burn them, brand them. Sometimes the burns heal easily, fading into their skin. Sometimes they heal pink-white and shiny, and he can feel them whenever he runs a hand over their back, their shoulders, their neck. It’s a tangible reminder of his relationship with them, a mark he’s left on them forever slick and scarred into their body. He likes to press on the still-healing skin, hearing his s/o hiss or inhale sharply. It makes him smile.

He’ll take candles and pour the wax down his s/o’s skin, hot and liquid and a breath away from burning. When he peels the wax away, the reddened skin beneath is sensitive and sensation is staticky. He’ll scrape his fingernails over it gently and relish his s/o’s gasp as their nerves scream in deadened pain.

He’ll run the lighter itself up and down his s/o’s fingers, their inner arms, just barely, only enough to shock that first layer of skin. So fast and expertly done that his s/o doesn’t even feel the pain until the flame is away from them. He’ll lick at their fingers, the wet heat of his mouth too close to the flame for their confused nerves, and the whimpers and pants they let out are a treat to him.

Gin likes playing on his s/o’s nerves, likes raising pain and discomfort in them, but only as much as it’s fun. Only as much as it gets them off and fulfills their needs as well as his. The moment his s/o isn’t alright with something is the moment he stops so much as bringing it up. That’s probably another reason why he likes things that linger more than things that outright harm his s/o- he can inflict the pain once and then just revisit it for days after. His s/o could do nothing but lie there and squirm as he ran his hands over the hurts and scars on their body, and he’d probably have just as grand a time as he did putting them there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #this is a weird potentially triggery discussion of Gin's vague pyrophilia lmao #only not really because its not the fire he likes #poor gin has all these kinks that sound horrible and really hes just a soft guy who likes pain #i feel like if his s/o was ever to use their safe word and put things to a dead stop hed never try whatever he was doing again #so even if his s/o wanted to revisit it and see if they could he'd be very very reluctant to #which loops us back around to his authority issues #he thinks maybe he pressured them into wanting to try again and wont let them hurt themselves like that #which is ridiculous because you can bet he never so much as attempts to revisit things like that


	23. Gin 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pet play? emotional humiliation? why am i even alive anymore

Third division soft sex headcanon for the day is Gin being filthy and sweet as per usual:

Role play? Role play. Gin would love some kind of master/pet relationship, despite his misgivings about exerting power over his s/o. Actually, perhaps because of it. Most things Gin is into seem normal or at least acceptable to him. What’s  _really_  dirty is emotional manipulation. It’s kinkier to him to call his lover names and humiliate them, to make them feel just a little bit worthless, than it is to fuck them like they are. It’s a thin line, and he watches it closely, but he very much enjoys it.

He’d make his s/o crawl around, lead them on a collar and leash and call them “slut” and “kitten” and all kinds of disgusting things I can’t bring myself to tell you, all in that sugar-sweet, velvet-soft voice. He’d make them suck him off while he pets their hair, cooing that they’re so good at this, such a willing little pet, that they give perfect service. He’d fuck them on their knees, hand curled lightly around their throat, fingers in their mouth and a sick, wide grin on his face, listening to them pant and gag and whine. “What a wonderful hole,” he teases them. “And all mine, because you belong to me, isn’t that right, sweetness?”

And then, when he’d had his fill and couldn’t stand to hold back real praise anymore, he’d lie them down and make them come over and over, whispering thanks and compliments and every now and then an apology because it couldn’t always be easy. He’d kiss them on the lips, that smile softened and his eyes cracked just enough to be true.

“So good for me,” he’d murmur. “Couldn’t ask for better.” Running a hand through their hair, tracing the line where the collar was, whispering to them, “Thank you, thank you, I’m sorry.” Until his cold, hurtful words fade from them and they see their own worth again. He touches them gently, makes no move towards fucking them again until they’ve forgotten what he called them, because there’s only so much pain from them he can take before it hurts him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #is this even soft #i feel like it could be #but who even knows #gin's emotional sadism is perpetually at war with his genuine love and affection for his s/o #listen... im not even in denial about being a trash can of a person anymore #gin's a kinky motherfucker because im a kinky motherfucker #i love you all #im sorry #gosh im so sorry lmao #pet play #this got filthy in my head #but im not sure this is the space for that lol


	24. Izuru 10

Another lovely soft sex headcanon:

Izuru is the kind of guy who would absolutely cuddle up to his s/o whenever he’s feeling tired or hurt or just a little lonely. I feel like as often as this is just human contact and intimacy, it’s also a testing of the waters. There are times when he wants sex but doesn’t know how to ask for it, so he starts off with this.

After a few months his s/o will be able to tell the difference, and can maybe start things themselves. A lingering kiss, a hand on his hip, something that could either be romantic or leading. There’s a bit of back and forth leading up to it, with him making a move and then his s/o making a move and so on. Eventually things just fade into foreplay, and his s/o can pin him down and empty his head of all sorrow and frustration.

Those are nights when he’ll be most grateful to sub- when his mind won’t stop and his heart is aching. He’ll drive it away by losing himself in things. His s/o’s calm, quiet direction and gentle touch firm on his body. Their voice and touch and taste, their fingers around his cock, lifting his chin to kiss them, pinning his wrists over his head.

He’s soft and peaceful after, worn out and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #happy sub izuru just wants to be taken care of sometimes


	25. Rose/Izuru/(s/o) 2

Today’s third division headcanons relate to Rose and Izuru because I’m a sad sad gal

I feel like after a long stretch of time where the two of them have had to work they’re really starting to feel the separation. Their s/o never sees them, and while they see each other all day every day, they don’t get to be all together, and it burns a little. So eventually they maneuver a day off for both of them and don’t tell their s/o. 

S/o wakes up, expecting a cold, empty bed and another day of tired loneliness. Instead they find two warm bodies and a mass of blonde hair. They laugh a little, choke back a sob. Izuru is immediately cupping their face between his hands, asking if they’re okay. Rose curls over their back, rests his head on their shoulder, running a hand up and down their arm.

“Never better,” they say, but they’re still a little weepy, so Izuru kisses the tears from the corners of their eyes and their cheeks. Rose manages to get an arm around their waist and pulls all three of them down into the pillows and blankets again. S/o turns over so they can look up at both of them, and just keeps smiling, even though there are thin tear tracks on their face. They’re happy tears, touched and grateful.

It’s some of the best sex any of the three has ever had, if not for the rampant laughter and soft, soft touches, then for the release of months of tension and the assuaging of emotional insecurities. Izuru is constant and earnest on their left, Rose a reassuring, contented presence at their right. The three of them fall together, again and again and again until the soreness of thin flesh and the weariness of worn limbs collapses in on itself and pushes them down for good.

The next morning, both Izuru and Rose are reluctant to leave. They worry about leaving s/o on their own. But the sloppy, sated, half-awake kisses s/o leaves on their faces are both endearing and reassuring, and both Captain and Lieutenant vow to be finished earlier so they can come home at a reasonable time.


	26. Gin 9

Third division soft sex headcanon for tonight is that Gin is absolutely soft in bed.

The sadism comes and goes in flashes and bursts, depending on what he’s been doing, how much violence his days have had. But even at his sharpest, at his darkest, there is a gentleness to his touch. There is always a question there, an awareness of his own strength.

‘If I touch you here,’ his hands seem to say, 'would that be alright?’ And sometimes his mouth says it too, asks in slick, smiling words if he can, if he should. Only after a yes does his touch grow stronger, deeper, fiercer.

But there are times when he doesn’t feel the need for violence, when just the closeness of his s/o’s body, the warmth of their skin, the hum of their sighs is enough. When dreamy, slow movement is more than enough, when control and hardness are forgotten. Always, always after, he takes his s/o’s hands in his and kisses their fingertips, their palms, their wrists, the backs of their hands.

He makes very little noise, just sighs and the wisp of breath, but the tiredness is wiped from his eyes and the smile he wears like a cold mask melts into a contented curve.


	27. Asuka 1

For today’s soft sex headcanon from the third division, I’m realizing that there are actually… other people… in the Third???

Asuka is something of snob. Little bit like Yumichika. He turns up his nose at a lot of things. So when he actually finds someone he considers “good enough” to be his s/o?? They’re going to be absolutely wallowing in affection and attentiveness.

He’s a little bit clingy for the first few years, sort of insecure and worried that his pride and sharp tongue might drive his s/o away. As a result, there’s a lot of fighting, and a lot of make-up sex. Seriously, a  _lot_. Better hope this boy doesn’t live in the barracks.

It’s always fast and harsh and regretful, always tinged with  _I’m sorry._ His whispering into their skin _“I’m sorry, please don’t leave me.”_ He presses kisses to their neck, their cheeks, their jaw, saying _“I’m sorry,”_ and _“I didn’t mean any of it- except that thing about worrying for you,”_ and _“never leave me, please, please, never.”_

His s/o rolling their eyes and holding him close and cursing his name because they were never going to go in the first place. “ _I’ll never leave_ ,” they whisper, holding his face between their hands. “ _I’ll never go unless you make me, and not even then, because you chose a stubborn one._ ”

The day he stops asking them to stay is the day he knows they will, and something in him settles. Something in him sighs and relaxes. “ _You know_?” His s/o asks.

“ _I know_ ,” he snaps, and they just laugh, and it’s an ’ _I love you_ ’ of its own


	28. Gin 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually one of my faves lol

Today’s Soft Sadist Gin headcanon is all about that emotional fuckery because I am Into That apparently

Gin’s a tease. He is the biggest tease in the world. He likes offsetting people, taking them off guard. He especially likes unsettling his s/o on certain occasions. Which means that any kind of public sex is incredibly appetizing to him. He loves to pin his s/o to the wall of an alley in broad daylight, get his hand between their legs and his mouth on their neck, swallowing their nervous, shaking cries, stroking out their orgasm with steady fingers and a wicked smile.

He likes to time things just right, so that his s/o comes just as company reaches the threshold of their home, just as someone knocks on the door of his office or his rooms in Las Noches. Their plaintive, whimpering cry strangled in their throat in an effort to keep from being heard, their fingers twitching in the sheets, on his shoulder, in his hair. He’ll look up at them with that wide grin and put his mouth where they want it most, lets them reach the peak just as the sound of footsteps reaches their ears. 

The shame of it, the slight horror and the fear of discovery in their face, the tension of their body mixed with the unwilling, uncompromised euphoria he gives them- that’s what he likes most. He’ll always put himself in the role of the aggressor, the unbothered, the one who would retain their dignity should someone actually find them.

But at the same time I think Gin would know if his s/o was really, truly afraid of that. He’d make it his business to know, to be sure of their limits and to know he’d never cross them. He’d have the time down precisely enough to give them just enough space they wouldn’t be seen, would be sure to only do it in places where they wouldn’t be caught, where the thrill of it is all they get. 

I also think that if anyone were to cross those lines he’s set up so carefully for his s/o’s benefit, he’d be all steel about it. If someone were to  _actually come in_  while he and s/o were in the middle of things, he’d take his time. Wrap s/o in blankets or his coat or a towel, cover them with no small amount of care and gentleness (because they didn’t sign up for this, this was something they never asked for and it might  _hurt them_ ), and then turn to the intruder. Hell, he could be completely naked and he wouldn’t give a shit. He has no shame. It isn’t him he’s concerned about. Whatever poor, unfortunate person dumb enough to walk in on them would be faced with a brazen, cold fury and a flat look, and if they didn’t leave on their own, they’d leave in a coffin. His s/o’s privacy, their boundaries, are his to patrol, and no matter how much he might tease he’d never go farther. 

So woe betide anyone who _does_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i have a Problem and his name is Gin #nsfw #this got long? I had a very specific image in my head and it spiraled from there #i just have this picture of Gin butt ass naked wrapping a huge blanket around his s/o #taking his own damn time while some poor stupid arrancar shakes in the background #and he turns to them naked as the day he was born- like full-frontal nudity #and just asks them what the hell they're thinking coming into his room unannounced #and s/o is a lil blanket burrito behind him #just the total contrast between shameless and modest is kinda cute in my head #he's like 'hey we could fuck in front of everyone' and s/o is like 'let's not' and he says 'okay' and then someone comes in anyway #and he's just like 'who the fuck' #'i swear i locked that door' #'u saw my s/o naked and s/o doesn't want anyone else seeing them naked so it's Murder Time' #I'm trying to do some good ones before I have to take a break from the third lol #December is going to be a new and interesting thing for me
> 
> ((I had said I'd do this same kind of set-up for the thirteenth division, but due to emotional troubles and a massive conflict with a friend that fell through p soon lmao))


	29. Izuru 11

Today’s third division soft sex headcanon is me crying more about Izuru because he’s precious

Izuru is the kind of guy who’d give his s/o a lot of oral. It would be nice for him to just get lost in their body, to dedicate time to their pleasure and to give himself some measure of peace. It would be so easy, too, to fill his senses with the sight of them, the scent, the taste of them on his tongue, caught on his lips for hours after.

After a hard mission, any battle when his hands feel particularly stained with blood, when he feels too heavy to reach for his own pleasure, too tainted to ask his s/o for it, he’d settle between their legs and inhale them. It’s an escape in its own way, to deny himself. To devote himself to something better, to give pleasure and relief and gentle, burning touch.

When his s/o has shaken apart under his tongue, his teeth, his lips, their hips shuddering and jerking under his clean, cold hands, he forces them back up to the peak of sensation. He lifts them with slow, steady effort, never harsh or forceful, but firm. Concrete in conviction. He lets them spiral down and relaxes more and more when the soft whimpering, the high sighs and breathy moans reach his ears. His shoulders unhunch as he loses himself in them, his eyes soften, his muscles loosen.

He collapses beside them, and hold their hands in his own, hair falling unregimented into his face, loose and curling over his eye. “What was that for?” They ask, tugging one hand free to caress his face, to press soft fingertips to the thin skin under his eye. He sighs, moving his head to kiss the backs of their fingers.

“I just wanted to know I could still do something  _good_ ,” he tells them, his eyes closing wearily, his whole body worn through. He sleeps soundly, safely, trusting he’ll be alright in their arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i had that last like rattling around in my head for ages #the one about doing something good #it was going to be for Gin originally #but i like this too# idk i might still give it to Gin in a one-shot


	30. Gin 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one of my favorites!!! I have definite biases

Today’s third division soft sex headcanon is only soft towards the end and involves more of Gin’s awful relationship with authority and consent because I’m still not over it.

I said before that he has nightmares sometimes, things that horrify him. They aren’t the things you might expect. The dreams that frighten him, the ones that strike to his core, are the ones where he wins. Cold and powerful, Aizen’s right hand, just to the side of the throne. He sees himself, smiling that knife-point smile and looking down on everyone around him.

He sees himself cruel and merciless towards the people he loves most. He sees his s/o, kneeling at his feet, blood soaking their knees, their lips, their hands. He hears himself say things to them that make his heart ache, terrible and untrue but he can see in their eyes they believe him.

He wakes with a long inhale, not a gasp, not a scream, and when the sheets beside him are cold and empty, a shard of panic clenches in his chest. He slides out of bed, follows a ray of light to the window, s/o wrapped in a blanket and gazing at the shifting sands. He comes up behind them, his arms loose and gentle where they curl around their waist. He presses his face into the back of their head, eyes truly closed, and breathes them in.

“I had a dream,” he says, and the emptiness in his tone tells them all they need to know. “You were on your knees for me. You cried.”

“I could,” they offer, and his grip on them tightens, his face twists painfully, agonized against the softness of their hair.

“Don’t,” he begs. “Don’t ever,” and he’ll say nothing more to them about it. He leads them back to bed and spreads them out under him, and the warmth of his skin is like heaven after the cold desert night.

“You’d say?” He asks, looking down at them, the anxiousness in him uncharacteristic. “If you didn’t want this, you’d say so?”

“Of course,” they reply, brow furrowing, and the way he presses silent kisses, gentle and heartrendingly soft, scattered over their cheeks, is almost painful to his s/o.

He makes love to them more than fucks them, the trembling sharpness in his chest shying away from the thought of their blood, their pain at his hands. He couldn’t bear it that night, not if his s/o asked him to. It’s not that kind of night. His hands are light, brushing gentle over their skin, their hair, the softness of their waist, their neck, their inner thighs. He’s slow and shaking, gentle and weak over them, even as he tries to shield them from what he knows he could be. They gasp and sigh and breathe him in, hold him _closer closer closer_  until their chests touch, their faces press together, his nose pressing into their cheek, their hands curving into his back, their legs hitched up over his hips so he can thrust himself in  _so slow_. “Stay,” they whisper, eyes pleading, trying to see beyond that curtain of silver between them. “Please stay.”

He doesn’t sleep again that night, eyes fixed on the small smile his s/o wears, telling himself _it’s enough it’s enough it’s enough_  to prevent himself from waking them to ask again if this was their choice. He has to trust them. He can’t quite trust himself, but he can trust them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i cant stop thinking about this #i cant stop thinking about gin being so afraid of aizen winning not because of aizen but because of him #he knows what he could be #and he hates it #he worries about it a lot more than he lets on #because it isn't like he doesn't enjoy the things he does for Aizen #most of them he does #but he's so afraid of becoming everything he pretends to be #this became like a mini fic #that's probably going to happen more often in the future as i lose more and more inhibitions and just go full-on with these


	31. Rose/Izuru/(s/o) 3

Today’s third division soft sex headcanon makes a return to the Rose/Izuru/s/o relationship because I can always use more of that in my life

Rose and Izuru don’t talk about their love life at work. It’s not like they pretend they don’t have one, but they do try to keep it from being too obvious to outsiders. They won’t talk about how Rose’s hands know the shape of Izuru’s ribcage better than he does. They won’t bring up how Izuru watched Rose go down on s/o for an hour and a half. They won’t talk about the time they walked in on s/o with their hand between their legs and their head thrown back, splayed out like a divine thing on the bed all three of them share. They certainly won’t talk about how s/o once rode Rose, a hand around his throat while he swallowed down Izuru’s come around the thickness of his cock.

But when Rose’s fingers curl around a mug of tea, when Izuru’s hair falls into his face and he smiles up at Rose, when they’ll catch a faint scent that reminds them of s/o… They certainly think about it.

It lights a bright spark in Rose’s chest, fills the place where a hollow hole might once have sat in his throat. It warms Izuru, shrouds him in a blanket of certainty, dedication and love. They share a faint smile and return to their work, their fingers twitching, their mouths curled just enough to show, their eyes brighter for the reminder.

And when they get home, they kiss s/o, pull off their clothes with long fingers that have been itching to touch. Rose’s hands are taken between two pairs of smaller, warmer hands, warmed themselves with soft breath and such care he thinks his heart might break. When he’s been warmed, he and s/o turn, the two of them pull hair from Izuru’s face with fond, gentle hands, tuck it behind his ear and kiss the exposed stretch of skin. They pull his scarf from his neck, undo his sash. Izuru and s/o turn quickly enough on Rose, unbuttoning the shirt beneath his uniform, pulling off the Captain’s haori with reverence and hanging it carefully. The Lieutenant’s badge joins it, as does s/o’s sash.

They fall into bed in a tangle of warm skin and soft laughter, small smiles and fumbled attempts to get the sheets out from under them all. Rose eventually manages it, and the sheet settles over all three of them, like children under a blanket fort. Soft golden light from candles and lanterns filters through, and they feel warm, all three of them, warm and loved and cherished under the hands of their lovers. They kiss, and kiss and kiss again, legs tangling and untangling, arms wrapping, hands brushing lovingly down stretches of familiar, scarred skin.

Nothing can hurt them, here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #this is sweet sweet filth and i'm happy with it #CAN U TELL I'M READY FOR THE HOLIDAYS #I AM SO READY #COLD WEATHER #IZURU IN A BLUE SCARF #ROSE IN GOLD AND VIOLET #S/O IN A CANARY YELLOW THAT MOST CERTAINLY DOES NOT REMIND THEM OF THEIR VERY BLONDE CAPTAIN AND LIEUTENANT #I SCREAM
> 
> I just love them... so much..


	32. Aizen/Gin/(s/o) 1

Today’s third division soft sex headcanon crosses over into the aizen sex meta tag, because in all honesty Gin is still one of the (very, very) few canon characters I can see Aizen ever engaging in a poly relationship with.

There’s just enough trust there, enough knowledge of each other. For this to work at all, it’d have to be a world where Gin wasn’t hell-bent on murdering Aizen. It would have to be a world where Gin was there for himself, or maybe where Aizen wasn’t the one responsible for Rangiku’s pain. A world where Aizen betrays his Captain and turns around one day to find his own Lieutenant is so fiercely, steadfastly devoted to him for more than power’s sake.

It would have to be a very different world indeed, for Aizen to take a fancy to some pretty thing while Gin watches with raised eyebrows and tells him not to break this one, because for all that Sosuke is doting and attentive out of bed, he’s a distant, ice-cold man to sleep with. Angry, perhaps, driven by some demon to lock every inch of love away the minute his clothes come off. Gin can take that, he can enjoy it, can give as good as he gets. The weak, submissive things Sosuke brings to their bed as a treat, an indulgence- they can’t. Often, they come away unsettled, off-put, if not upset and hurt by his coldness. Gin is the one who soothes them, reassures them with sly, low words. Sends them away with a handkerchief and a well wish. 

S/o isn’t like that. They’re not upset by how he treats them, by the way Gin watches with a smile, the way Sosuke tears them apart and makes them enjoy it- and they do enjoy it. They come away as quietly and unobtrusively as they came in, offering a Gin a soft word of apology and a small smile before disappearing into seireitei once more. Sosuke may have found them first, but it’s Gin who seeks them out. They’re quiet and calm, and that resonates with Gin, who spent so much of his early life so alone he didn’t know the sound of his own voice because he never used it. They talk with him, in a low voice, in a dimly lit room, the shadows making them look thin and sad.

He brings them back, and Sosuke raises one eyebrow at him and just takes another sip of his tea. He doesn’t question it. Gin doesn’t do things without purpose, and this is surely no exception. S/o is offered tea and engaged in the conversation, and soon they forget their nervousness to converse politely and charmingly with them both. They stay the night again, but this time Gin just curls up around them, and Sosuke’s arm reaches over to grasp Gin’s sleeve. They stay the same way night after night, curled up, warm and familiar, and together.

One day they wake up and realize the three of them have been together for quite awhile now. Sosuke stands, frowning, in the early morning light, watching the other two sleep, trying to understand what it is he’s feeling, why his chest feels like somebody’s punched a hole clean through. S/o wakes up, sits up as best they can with Gin’s arm wrapped around their waist.

“I should go,” they say, in a voice that screams hurt and guilt and apology, and he’s surprised by how little he wants for them to go.

“Why?” He asks, and their mouth drops open, they try to say something, but they can’t quite get it out. “Stay,” he orders, setting down his cup, and they sink back into the bed, a little bit chastened. He moves around the bed, back to the side he sleeps on, and Gin’s grip on them tightens. He’s more awake than he seems, nuzzling his cold nose into s/o’s hair, watching Sosuke move forward to pin them between the two men. “Stay,” he says again, his voice a growl, his mouth on the ridge of their collarbone.

“For how long?” They ask, and if either of the two could see their eyes, they’d see the tired, worn hopelessness there. “Until you get tired of me? Until you realize you only need each other?”

“Until the day you ask us to let you go,” Gin says, low and soft into their ear. He lets go, pushes s/o down on their back, kisses them without a smile. He fucks them slow and sharp, resting his forehead on theirs and reaching down to pull an orgasm from them, hands light and strokes long, making them come again and again before he finally sighs out his own release. He collapses beside them, strokes a long-fingered hand through their hair, presses kisses up and down their face. He’s soft, impressing feeling into every inch of s/o’s skin he can touch.

Sosuke isn’t any more kind this time. S/o wouldn’t want him to be, because that wouldn’t be him, and they love him, love both of them. Gin, all gentle hands and sharp words, Sosuke, whose touch is hard and whose mouth is soft. S/o loves them, and they love each other, and that means s/o needs to be  _shown_. They need to be reassured that this isn’t a fling. This isn’t a one-time thing. This is every day, tea in the morning and a hand on their throat every night. He fucks them hard, driving into them, bruising them, biting them as if he can make them forget their doubt with only his touch. He watches them writhe, uncomfortable and ecstatic, shuddering through one last orgasm before he, too, spills inside them and falls to their other side. Their arms are heavy and reassuring over s/o’s waist, the warmth of them on either side of them a steady, calm thing.

“Why?” S/o asks softly. “Why would you want me?” Sosuke just shakes his head and kisses the back of their hand. Gin’s clever fingers trace circles up and down their back.

“You’re ours,” Gin says quietly, smiling into their hair, his legs tangling with theirs. “Ours forever.”

“I’d like that,” they say, smiling shyly, softly. Sosuke kisses the corner of their mouth, arms warm and solid around their waist, Gin’s thin, bony limbs twined above them. He meets Gin’s eyes over their head, the two of them in absolute agreement.

“Then that’s how it shall be,” Sosuke decrees, voice rough, and for a moment everything he says is true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #would this actually be the fifth? that's only now occurring to me #Gin takes home a stray and they both fall in love #s/o is a quiet lil thing #but they're fascinating and endearing #and soon both Gin and Aizen are attached #and s/o doesn't know where they fit in #and Aizen is all 'don't you fuckin dare leave. not until you understand we want to keep you here.' #Gin just being a snake and wrapping all of himself around s/o all 'don't let go just because you think we don't love you.' #s/o is very confused but will stay as long as they want #because s/o loves them both and will take all they can get #which in this case ends up being everything
> 
> guilty pleasure? guilty pleasure.


	33. Rose/Izuru/(s/o) 4

Today’s third division soft sex headcanons are about the time Izuru and Rose walked in on s/o masturbating because what’s more giving than realizing your s/o needs some relief

It had been a long and difficult week, and neither of them has been up for more than falling dead alseep in each other’s arms after work. S/o understands, really, they do, but it still hurts a little to see the two of them together all the time knowing that they spend so much time together anyway.

So not only is s/o feeling superfluous and ignored and despondent, but they also haven’t gotten off in a good week and a half. So they think fine, I can do this for myself. They lie back, reach down between their legs, their other hand reaching up to play with a nipple, to tug and scrape and twist as best they can, even though Rose’s mouth has a way with them that’s so much better. They sigh and try their best to work themselves up, to fix this for themselves. 

Little did they know that their lovers had managed to get everything done so they could get home at a reasonable time. They come in quietly, thinking perhaps s/o has already gone to sleep. They come in, slightly despondent and knowing they’ll be gone before s/o wakes up the next morning. So when Izuru goes to open the door only to find it cracked already, rays of candlelight flickering on the floor, he’s transfixed. S/o, arched and gasping softly, hands on their own skin, working themselves to the heights of passion. His little voyeur heart can hardly take it. His lips part, his eyes lock onto their furiously moving hands, the flex and bow of their muscles and bones under their skin. Rose comes up behind him, quiet and curious.

He’s the one who opens the door, slowly, carefully, sweeping over to kneel by the side of the bed, resting his crossed arms on top of the sheets, his head on the cradle of his arms, watching with soft eyes and sad smile. Izuru lingers by the door, enraptured and longing. He leans in but stays back, transfixed and wanting. S/o doesn’t even notice them at first, but they turn their head and meet Rose’s eyes, and the soft, surprised “oh” spurs Izuru forward. He kisses them, long and deep and heated, the click of his teeth on theirs a bare brush of enthusiasm and lust. Rose’s hands stroke up the outsides of their thighs.

“You’ve been left alone, haven’t you,” he murmurs, his touch firm and knowing, soothing any shame from them. Izuru kisses a streak from their mouth to their cheek to their forehead, his hands curled around their face. “You thought we’d neglect you?” At the soft, guilty look on their face he sighs, presses a brief kiss to their knee. “We have been neglecting you,” he corrects himself. Izuru’s hands move down, holding their hips as Rose makes his way up their legs, ankle to knee to thigh and then-

The feeling of Rose’s mouth over them, warm and wet and those violet eyes looking up at them- they would writhe and shake and shiver if Izuru’s gentle, calloused hands weren’t pressing their hips down into the sheets. As it is, they gasp and shake their head and moan out their lovers’ names. Their hips jerk up as they come, and Rose smiles, they can feel it, and it only spurs them on.


	34. Izuru 12

Today’s third division soft sex headcanon is all about Izuru being sad and beautiful, because I love him I’m not even sorry anymore

Izuru strikes me as the kind of man who’d like his s/o to ride him. Soft and slow, or fast and punishingly hard, it doesn’t matter. To have someone take control of him, to command him in that way, it makes him feel more at ease, sometimes. But on the softer days, days when his heart caves in at any touch and the place where his chest used to be a gaping hole aches, those are days when he can’t bear to be alone, can’t bear to be the dominant one.

His s/o will push him back, a hand flat over the center of his chest, bridging the gap between smooth skin and scar tissue. They’ll straddle his hips, their weight a reminder of where he is, when he is. Their hands, gentle and unflinching on his face, thumbs stroking across his cheekbones like they’re glass. Fingers so light and careful on his tender, aching body. 

“Are you sure?” They ask, pressing countless kisses to his freckled cheeks, his forehead, his nose and eyes and jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you,” they whisper, lips brushing with barest touch over his skin.

“I don’t mind it so much when you do it,” he says, and it’s only half a joke, even though he smiles. S/o kisses him, presses their mouth hard to his, and their hands go down to his hips, his cock, soft and attentive and wanting. He gasps into their mouth, and they swallow it, stroking him up and down, his cock trapped between them. They rise up over him, sink down onto him, their body a wet, burning weight on him, around him, over him. He breaks away, presses his forehead to the divide at the center of their chest, the hollow space under their chin, stretching down to their collar bones. He pants and gasps and grunts into their skin, one of their hands creeping up to press him into them. Their fingers tangle in his loose hair, holding him close, protecting him.

Their hips move in circles over his, slow and languorous, deep, deep, his cock throbbing, burning inside of them. They move and move and move, and he lets out wet gasps, empty sobs of pure feeling. It’s so good. It’s  _so_  good, and he can’t hold any of it in. His s/o hushes him softly, sweetly, hand stroking through his hair, combing the sweat-darkened strands away from his face. “Let it out,” they whisper, jutting their hips forward so his cock slams into them. He whines, and a tear falls down his flushed, twisting face. S/o kisses it away, cupping his face in their hands even as they roll their hips, back and forth,  _back and forth_ , and he’s overwhelmed. He chokes out a cry, still looking up at them, as he spills into them, and they just shush him and press their forehead to his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, still a little choked, a little strained. Tears are still making their way down his face.

“Don’t you dare,” s/o says. He shakes his head and reaches down, and when they make a soft, muffled groan into his mouth, he smiles a little. They shake and shiver on top of him, still rolling their hips in small jerks and gasping into his mouth, working their way through their orgasm. Their wetness on his hands, his come spilling from between their legs- they’re a mess. But when they kiss, they taste only salt and each other.

His hips ache, his scarred right arm weighs heavy, but he feels a softness in his heart. He feels good. And when he drifts off, loose and sleepy beside his s/o, their face buried in his chest, their hand stroking gently along the ridge on his back where scar becomes smooth skin. reverent, grateful, afraid. “Don’t,” he murmurs, only half-asleep. “It’s not worth it.”

“You’re worth everything,” they whisper back, fingers trailing between scorched nerves and new. He shakes his head, but he doesn’t ask them to stop again.

So they don’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #I feel like Izuru might be able to heal a lot more of the damage done to him during the Quincy arc #but i also think he'd suffer a lot after #scar tissue everywhere #some prosthetics still inside of him #but he likes feeling useful #and with that comes this idea that he likes to feel 'used' in a way #if his s/o gets off and he doesn't immediately do the same there's this feeling of his having done his job #no expectation of the favor being returned #but his s/o only indulges this inasmuch as it doesn't hurt him #and sometimes they'll purposefully make him come first because he's lovely and soft and self-denying and they want him to feel good #anyway im sad


	35. Gin 12

Today’s soft sex head canon with the third division is about Gin again because why not

When Gin finds a one-night stand, he’s courteous, fast and hard and sharp. A mutual satiating of pleasure, of wants and needs and little more. Not as much depth and time and intimacy as he likes, but enough investment for it to be fun.

Gin in love is something else. Gin in love is slow, deep kisses and a smile at the base of your throat, your own red red blood on your sheets and the gentlest touch on your skin. It’s hours of being tied down, his cock prodding at your inner thighs while he bites and sucks at one nipple with those white teeth.

Violently, horrifyingly tender. Gentle and terrible in turns, always just the right balance between what you can take and what you can’t stand. Careful and careless and sweet, like the taste of salt and blood and persimmon in his mouth. Intimate and eternal, mischievous and respectful, fierce and kind. He’s all opposites and harmony, and it’s beautiful in the same ways it’s horrible.


	36. Rose 6

Today’s soft sex headcanon for the third division is based on an AU yunghexe and I talk about where Rose is a closet rock star who goes on long solo road trips to avoid doing any actual rock-star-ing

He’ll bring his date to a very very nice restaurant, dressed in jeans and a blazer and ridiculous self-confidence, and he gets the finest seat in the house. He orders in perfect French, sniffs at the wine list, and refuses to let his date so much as kiss him until they get back to their front step.

the crux of this is that it’s their  _twentieth date_

Because he’s such a big deal, Rose is understandably cautious about jumping into bed with people who know who he is. There are people out there who are impressionable and he’s hate to lead them on. There are people who are cruel, and he’d hate to get hurt. He’d hate to think anyone he asked to bed might think they can’t say no. Fame is a difficult thing, and that contributes to his attitude, but also there’s a part of him that’s just a huge romantic. He wants to use all that money and influence to treat them well. He wants to properly court his lover before they become  _lovers._

And that’s lovely. At first.

Except after his s/o realizes that he’s doing this on purpose, he’s not just eccentric and oblivious, he is keeping his distance deliberately- that’s when things become difficult. Because Rose is gorgeous. He’s pretty, and he’s kind, and he’s so calm that they feel he could carry them through a wildfire and the most he would do was just sigh because his shirt was singed.

So the chaste, sweet dates become a kind of torture. All of it does. Holding his hand as they run down an alley, laughing and high on adrenaline as paparazzi slam into the gate they closed behind them. Watching him sing them a love song at open mic night in a beat-down dive bar. Kissing him, just barely, lips brushing hot against theirs. Listening to his voice over the phone, rough with the morning.

It all becomes hard to stand without wanting too much, but they’d never ask for more than he could give. Too many people have, too many people still do. So they stick to short, wanting kisses at the door, pecks pressed to the back of his hand when they’re holding it, the warmth of his arms around them when he sees them again after a long while.

And then Rose notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do only do him twice as often as the other two akjsdhaksjd


	37. Rose 7

Tonight’s soft sex headcanon for the third division is the other half of the rock star Rose AU

Rose notices that now they’re the one keeping their distance, and it prickles at his heart. He knows by now that his s/o truly cares for him, that they aren’t only there for the fame and fortune, the glamour, the money. But he’s been keeping his distance, and it occurs to him perhaps they don’t know the same. So he comes closer. He touches more freely, kisses them more often, runs a hand through their hair. Hooks his arms around their waist and just holds them.

“Are you alright, dear?” He asks them gently, because there’s a tremor in their hand and when he looked at their face it was guarded. 

“Really Rose,” they say softly, their hands wrapped around his hands wrapped around their waist. “I’m fine.” They pull away, shoulders hunching up like they’re shaking off something that hurts.

“Are you?” He asks, and the note of sadness in his voice strikes deeper than anything else. They turn back to him, arms crossed and shoulders still around their ears. They look drawn in and sad, and he wants to do nothing more than take them into his arms.

“I don’t want any more than you can give,” they say, looking up at him with worry in their eyes, and he kisses them fiercely, hands cupping their face gently, his heart aching, searing with anguish at the thought of losing them because he was too damn  _cautious_. Their hands go up to his, closing around his wrists as if to keep them there, their mouth opens under his, and the want between them, the desire and hope and care are sharp and velvet-soft. He breaks away just a moment, violet eyes soft with love.  
“I’d give you everything,” he admits, and kisses them again. They reach for him, bury reverent hands in soft blonde curls and pull him closer, chest-to-chest, his arms looping carefully around their back. They kiss, and they move, and suddenly Rose is unbuttoning his own shirt and shaking out his hair, smiling softly.

”I love you,” they say mournfully.

”I love you,” Rose says in return, reassuring. “I just didn’t want- i, uh.”

”You love me?” They ask, eyes so wide. They look absolutely shocked and Rose is a little bit shattered to see it. Rose, ever-eloquent, nods dumbly. “Oh.”

”Come to bed?” He asks, and they nod, soft and smiling. He takes their hand and lays them down, just kissing at first, hips rolling against each other, his half-unbuttoned blouse hanging free, dangling in the air. S/o’s hands are curled into that soft, light hair, leg crooked up over his hip, mouth pressed to his, hands roaming roaming roaming. Soon s/o is being undressed with careful, loving hands, which undo each button with quiet experience, every piece of clothing removed bares new skin, pieces of them he’s never seen before, and he greets each one with a kiss. Soon, s/o is panting under him, reaching for him.

“Please, Rose, please I need it, please” He smiles, wide and slow and those half-lidded eyes lower even more, darken with lust. He surges forward, the gentleness of before becoming an earnest intent. His hand between their thighs, his teeth catching on their soft lips. He moves into them, their legs hooked together at the small of his back, their head thrown back a little, sweat on both of them. Rose fucks into them, long and hard, cock slamming into the pit of their stomach. He moves slowly, stroke after stroke, sigh after sigh. He kisses them over and over and whispers “I love you” into their skin. Burns into them with his touch because he does, he means it, and he wants to say it as much as he can.

When he comes, it’s with a low groan and the press of his forehead to theirs, murmuring sweet things into their ears. “You look like a spread of stars, lovely.” Or “you look so pretty, all pink and satisfied with me.” They snort and smile, and brush the back of their hand over his cheek.

“I love you,” they say back, and it’s still a tug to his heart, the way it sounds pulled from them, the way it sounds like they can’t bear to let it go. He kisses them once more before falling beside them, loose and golden. His hand twines with theirs, and their head falls to his shoulder. It’s good.

He and s/o become a little more prominent, and the paparazzi lose it. He dedicates songs to them and they stand at the wings of the stage to watch him sing. He keeps them in his bed, long, loose limbs sprawled over them and clinging to them. He meets their parents, their friends, all of them shocked and a little enamoured, but that will fade. He kisses them every morning and every night, and goes to sleep smiling at the thought of having somebody he loves and who loves him. It’s a wonderful thing. Shinji and Kensei exchange bets for how long this relationship will last. (Neither of them is right)


	38. Gin 13

Today’s soft sex third division headcanons are about Gin because I’m predictable and u know I love him

I feel like Gin would be really into overstimulation. Making his partner come again and again and again and again. Curling his fingers into all those soft spots, stroking heated flesh and smiling smugly when they jerk away. He’ll work them up over and over, force them through orgasm after orgasm, peak after peak without end, and when they’re shaking and sobbing, writhing and flushed and beautiful, he leans in close and brushes strands of hair gently from their face.

“No more,” they beg through their tears. “Please no.”

“One more,” he croons sweetly. “Just one more. Think you can do that for me, sweetness?” He strokes a finger somewhere sensitive, and they twitch and sob. He waits, and the longer they stay silent, the more worried he gets. “If you can’t say yes, you need to tell me no, sweetness. Give me something,” he asks, and when he moves to stand, they speak.

“I want to,” they say, and their voice is thin and small. He shakes his head, and they raise one shaking hand to brush a knuckle over his cheek. “I want to,” they repeat, and it’s stronger this time. “But…”

“But what, tulip?” He asks, pressing a kiss to their fingers.

“Fuck me through it?” His smile stretches, but there’s an edge of softness to it.

“Of course, sweetness. All you have to do is ask,” he drawls before kissing them soundly, hitching one of their thighs up over his hip so he can fuck into them hard, sheathing himself in them fully, moving with short, sharp thrusts, deep and fast. He works himself up, the taste of them on his tongue only making everything better, the soft, wet sounds their mouth makes under his urging him on. They’re wet and split open, pliant and soft in his hands. He sighs into their mouth as he comes, almost soundless and sudden. The heat of him in them, wet and too much on their sore nerves, combined with his sly, thin fingers on their most sensitive skin, gentle and coaxing, burn one last orgasm through them, jerking and gasping, limp and tired.

“You’re so good,” he murmurs into their cheek as he kisses it. “Let me taste you, sweetness.” His fingers rub through his own release, theirs, the sweat still dripping from their heated body. they watch with exhausted, wanting eyes as he licks pale fluid from his hand.

“Good?” They ask softly. He smiles and kisses their temple, the corner of their eye, their cheekbone.

“Perfect,” he sighs, tossing one thin, strong arm over their waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #This is something that I think about a lot lmao #the phrase 'one more sweetness' in his voice has been rattling around in my head #Gin calls his s/o all kinds of disgustingly sweet things #and he loves tiring them out #making them soft and sweet and willing in his arms
> 
> f i l t h


	39. Gin/Izuru/Rose/(s/o) 1

Anonymous:

Concept: KiraxRosexGinxS/O poly relationship.

________

BLESSED CONCEPT

Gin/Izuru/s/o come together early on in Izuru’s term as Lieutenant. It’s a collision, a sharp, painful, beautiful thing. They fall together, then fall in love, and Gin leaves them because he is who he is. He can’t let go of Aizen any more than he can let go of them, so he walks away and hopes he can be forgiven. And he doesn’t manage to kill Aizen, but he comes closer. Close enough he doesn’t die.

So let’s say, in this AU, Gin is put in jail. Rose comes back to take his old post as captain. Izuru is torn between forgiving and never forgetting. S/o is just tired. So tired, and so hurt, and all they want is the thing they lost when Gin betrayed them both. They cling to Izuru even as he does the same because what else to they have but each other? Gin is on trial, and then in prison, and they don’t visit him because it might be too much for them to bear. If he were to hate them it might be agony, but if he were to love them it would be worse.

And then Gin is freed, Shinso bound back into his soul like a caged animal, but for the first time in a hundred years, Gin can act like himself. He can be who he likes. And Rose is still deeply invested in helping Izuru and s/o, cares for them, wants to help them become whole again. So much that he doesn’t even notice how close he’s coming to simply falling in love with them both. Gin does, though, watches with pained eyes as this man he once replaced now replaces him, falls into the same trap he did.

He watches, from the shadows, from a distance, as this new captain is greeted with tired politeness, then careful affection, then with glad familiarity by the people he yet loves and who once loved him. He wants to be happy for them. He wants them to  _be_  happy, more than anything he wants that. But it’s something he can’t give them. Not anymore. So he watches Izuru, soft with heartbreak and sharp with pain, slowly open to his new captain and grow strong in the safety of his hands. He watches s/o, burned through with loss and betrayal light up to see him, and oh, how his heart aches to see them smile like that at someone else. He should hate Rose for it, for being stable and wise and kind where Gin could be only callous and cruel. And maybe he does, maybe the flash of white-hot feeling that shatters through him is hatred, but Gin has only ever hated one man, and that felt nothing like this. He doesn’t wonder, doesn’t contemplate. He doesn’t even think about it.

Until one day he actually meets Rose.

And the man is kind to him, too, as if he hadn’t been party to his hollowfication and near-execution and banishment a hundred years ago. As if Gin was his friend, as if Gin was someone he knew. Gin is surprised, confused, but carries on the conversation. It’s amicable, harmless. Then he turns, and Rose asks him to stay. He asks politely and with a strange air that tells Gin that while it doesn’t really matter what he does, he’s going to stay. “They still care for you,” Rose says quietly, yearningly, and Gin has to suppress a sharp impulse to laugh. To rub it in his face. But he clings to that knowledge, that idea. He rolls the words over and over in his head at night “they still care” because so does he, and his lovers, so soft and bright, Rangiku, wise and wonderful- they’re the last things he loves. The only things.

So when Rose proposes the idea, Gin agrees readily.

S/o presses kisses down Gin’s neck, along his spine, tender and slow. He feels safe, mended under their gentle touch. He sighs and leans forward, only for Izuru’s hand to creep under his chin, tilt it up so he can kiss Gin, light and testing. Gin leans in, makes no further move. Rose’s hands move from Gin’s pointed knees to his muscled thighs, spreads them gently so Izuru can slip between them, above them. Gin looks to him, and Rose presses a tentative kiss to the corner of his mouth, testing it.

Rose’s hands are experienced, precise and warm on his thighs, and Izuru sinks down onto Gin’s cock with a feathery sigh that builds up to agony behind Gin’s ribcage. It’s a soft little sound, trusting and loving, and Gin knows it so well. The throbbing, twisting pain gets worse with every touch of s/o’s hands on his sides, gentle, swirling motions, brushes of fingertip and palm, heel of their hand and the scrape of teeth on the back of his neck. He leans back into s/o’s touch, his heart aching, twisting with sorrow, despair and hope and such small, fragile, persistent love for them both. It’s latched on to Rose, too, Rose with his calm eyes and even voice and deepest understanding of things. Rose who looked at Gin covered in blood and the tears of the people who he loved most and said, “You can come home with us.”

Even as Izuru presses his forehead into Gin’s thin shoulder, rolls his hips and twists his waist and pants, Gin’s face remains small and soft, a frown set deep into his face. He touches only where they say he can, doesn’t stray but soaks in what he has been allowed with hungry, desperate hands, eyes and mouth and heart starving for his lovers, his dearest, deepest loves. He kisses hard, slow and deep with trace of tongue and sharp edge of teeth. If this is the last time he ever touches them, he wants everything he can have. He wants everything. Izuru shivers in his arms, shakes and tremors and spills hot over Gin’s stomach, his thighs, his own cock. “Gin,” Izuru calls out into his skin, panting it, moaning it, his tongue making it something treasured. 

“Gin,” s/o murmurs, sighs, over and over and over as he buries his face between their thighs and devours them. He tries to memorize the taste of them, the scent, the way they look spread open beneath him. Rose’s hands on Izuru behind him should infuriate him. It should burn him apart. But it doesn’t. He makes s/o come, licks them clean and kisses them so they can taste themselves on his tongue. He memorizes their bodies again, Izuru and s/o. Charts them like constellations, Izuru’s lovely stars and galaxies of freckles scattered over him beautiful and copper-dark, s/o’s delicate, soft wrists and veins like trees and rivers under their skin.

He and Rose do little more than kiss. That trust is still building, that faint attraction only slowly blooming. But it’s a good arrangement nevertheless. Watching Rose swallow down Izuru’s come, watching s/o ride him, use him, and watching how he enjoys it, accepts it. Gin doesn’t feel threatened. He doesn’t feel hurt. He feels grateful for a second chance. He feels soft, warm and loved and clean, and when he wakes in the middle of the night he rises to leave because this gift has already been more than he deserves, but he isn’t as quiet as maybe he should have been.

“Stay,” s/o murmurs, hand catching in Gin’s sleeve. He turns, and they pull him back, wrap him up in their arms like they plan to never let him go again. He looks over to see Rose sitting up, halfway out of bed already, because he feels like he’s intruding, like he’s an unnecessary piece of this whole. “Stay,” Izuru whispers, pulling Rose back into bed. The surprise is washed from his face with a lovely smile, and Gin’s free hand reaches over Izuru, who’s taken it upon himself to cling to his new captain, and buries itself in Rose’s thick, blond curls. “Stay, stay, stay,” they all whisper, holding each other close, holding on tight.

They do.

They stay forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT A FUCKING MOOD


	40. Gin 14

**oreohamster**  asked:

Please consider: Gin doing ballet.

_______

Okay so I know this isn’t technically a request and it’s not exactly sexy to anyone but me (sorry) but in place of today’s 13th at 3 I’m just going to draw you a word picture

Gin as a ballet dancer. All that grace and fluid motion, all that iron-tight control and the only thing that’s different is he doesn’t carry a sword. Small and sharp and uncertain, but fascinated by the dancers with their imperious frowns and perfect control. Sly looks and that silver hair just enough in his eyes that nobody sees him watching. Copying movements in a mirror until Rangiku sighs and gives him a pair of secondhand ballet slippers because this is a thing he’s doing now.

Dedication and perfectionism focused on the expression of things, on showing emotions he’s used to locking down. Working and working until he can say more with the twist of a hand than he ever could with that silver tongue. That burning ache when he’s done one too many chainés and his lungs haven’t stopped turning yet. The vicious kind of joy when he hears he’s done something right. Done it perfectly.

Long limbs with corded muscle and loose movement, wrapped in skin-tight costumes and gauzy fabric, worn shirts and leggings for practices. That wicked smile replaced on stage by a small frown, serious enough to pass for stoic, but still just a touch softer, a shade lighter. Hour after hour in mirrored rooms because Gin never steps away from a goal, not for a moment. Turning, turning in endless pirouettes until there is a perfect red circle where his feet have bled onto the polished floor, and he calls it improvement.

The flush on his cheeks, breathing heavily and smiling even as he pants, a thin sheen of sweat on his cheeks, his neck. The way his damp hair falls into his face, saltwater soft and just enough to hide his smile. The bounding, joyful way he carries through his jumps, the reckless height he reaches, the curve of the muscles in his legs when they stretch. The flourish of his wrists, the spread of his fingers as they move, turn, fold. The curve of his spine, the arch of his hips as he twists. The silver-blue of his hair under the lights, the piercing aquamarine he sometimes lets slip through his eyes when he’s too happy to keep them closed. The gratitude in each bow, those pale hands clasped on either side. There is a catlike softness, a predatory vulnerability in him. He is radiant, elegant, painful to watch with how softly, fiercely he moves.

Poetry in motion, and grace in every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen... I find ballet to be very hot. 
> 
> #Ballet dancer Gin is now a thing that I have in my head #Gin pressing his s/o to the mirrored wall of the dance room #Gin fucking his s/o against the mirrored wall of the dance room #Gin in Swan Lake #Gin in Giselle #Gin in the Nutcracker I’m crying #I love it #Gin being beautiful and artistic and terrifyingly physically capable


	41. Gin 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah I forgot about the pet play one
> 
> I'm despicable, sorry

A thing I think about a lot is how much Gin might like his s/o in a fully submissive position, but also how sweet he would be during a situation like that. Like he would love putting his s/o on a leash, having them kneel, but never kicking them to their knees. Forbidding them from speaking except for matters of importance, but having them repeat back their safe words and color signs first, reminding them with a grin and a serious voice that their comfort is very important, and they should never keep quiet about it.

He’d love having them stay on their hands and knees, not because it’s humiliating so much as because it keeps them at the perfect height to rest his hand on their head, to curl his fingers in their hair absentmindedly and smile when they press their head into his hand as if seeking his approval, his affection. And he gives it freely, lovingly.

Having them sit on his lap, quiet and warm, all curled up like a cat. His hand running up and down their spine while he croons about how they’re such a sweet pet, so docile, so well-behaved. Him pulling them towards him by the collar, straining them just a little so they have to reach for him. Kissing them, grinning that knife-edge grin and pulling their thighs apart so they straddle his, so they sit atop him and he can pull them down to kiss him more deeply.

Having them kneel between his legs while he sits, running his hand through their hair, letting them press their face into the inside his thigh. Murmuring that they’re so good for him, that he wants to keep them with him always, wants to care for them, that the way they want him makes him feel needed, feel loved, and they only press closer, because he  _is_.

He’d be so good at that, at being the loving, teasing master. Always mischievous, but never cruel. Always soft, but never weak. It’s almost the ideal position for him. He’d gain such control over his s/o in that state that he’d grow cautious with his commands, begin to notice when his s/o seems less conscious, less in control. He’d check in more frequently, praise them more often, command them more gently. Always adjusting his actions so both of their needs are met, both of their pleasures addressed and brought to bear.


	42. Izuru 13

Izuru is an observant man, all wandering eyes and sharp awareness. He’s a voyeur of voyeurs, watching the watcher watching the show, even when he himself is on stage. He doesn’t always say what he sees, but he sees. This comes out strongly with his s/o. 

He’ll watch his s/o smile, and laugh and talk, watch the way their mouth shapes his name, the soft way their eyes go distant when they talk about something they love. The way their fingers move when they search for a word in their head. The way their teeth, blunt and cutting, push into the flesh of their lip and pull, the way it makes their smile softer, shyer. 

He’s polite, and he’s quiet, and he’s kind, so he’ll wait out the meal and pull out your chair and walk you out before he  _touches_. Before his hands grasp at your hair, run slowly over the ridges of your hips, trace slyly at the lines of your ribcage. He’ll wait until you’ve reached a dark alley before he pushes you in and bites at your lips and runs his tongue over the edge of your teeth. He’ll watch and wait and  _want_.

And then, with unhurried movements, measured with the space of his eyes and the curve of his fingers under the table, he’ll  _take_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #today's 3rd at 3 brought to you by my love-starved heart #I've said before that Izuru is a voyeur of sorts #I think he likes to keep his distance until he knows what he's working with y'know? #he's an analyst #checks things over before he makes his moves #and then he makes them WELL #the only time I can recall him losing a fight was when he was ambushed and someone put a goddamn hole in his chest #he knows what he's doing usually #in all things lmao


	43. Rose 8

Remember that AU where Rose is a rock star, but the kind of rock star who evades the paparazzi on a borrowed bicycle or misses his own show because he was at someone else’s?

We’re revisiting that.

Now that Rose and s/o have worked out a few issues and had a lovely time, Rose is willing to, shall we say,  _try new things_ with s/o. He pulls them up to the roof of a hotel in Paris and kisses them breathless. They end up curled together on a blanket, shivering pleasantly under the breeze.

“We could make love,” he suggests offhandedly, as if that wasn’t something he’d been mulling over since they’d arrived. “For warmth.”

“For warmth,” s/o asks dryly. “Is that what they’re calling it these days.”

“Mm,” Rose hums into their mouth, and their hands  _are_  warm as they slide up his sides, under his shirt. There’s a strip of his back, between his waist and and the scrunched up back of his jacket, chilled under their touch.

“You are cold,” they point out, and smile impishly, undoing his shirt, exposing more and more skin, and the chill on his back that night is a good memory he carries with him, sprinkled through songs, held through nights apart from them.

There’s something nice about it, he finds. The night air, humid or dry, ice-chilled or sun-warmed on their skin. The glitter of the stars, the softness of a blanket beneath them, at his back or theirs, the chill of stone beneath it leaking through. Paris, New York, Amsterdam, Morocco. Wherever he can snatch them away and pull them to the roof, see the curves of their face in the darkness. There’s something honest about it.


	44. Gin 16

Today’s third at three came about because I was looking at those pet name posts again and… guys… my mind is filthy that’s all there is to it.

If you think Gin doesn’t like oral, you’re absolutely wrong. It gives him all the control he could ask for, lets him scrunch down between his s/o’s knees and touch them in all the soft, sensitive places he can’t reach at other angles. It lets him feel that he’s both serving them and teasing them, winding them up and keeping them at that edge until he pulls them down, that wide, wide smile curling on thin, soft skin.

“Tastes like honey,” he says, laying his head on his s/o’s thigh, licking all the wet from his lips, his cheeks, his chin. “Milk and honey from my honeybee.” S/o squeaks, blushes, lets out a soft, strangled moan as he dives back down to suck and lick and nip at them, to pull them apart and drink down all the sweetness from between their thighs.

“Pollen,” he proclaims, swallowing. “You taste like pollen and sunshine, tulip.”

“Stop that,” s/o laughs, the tiny kisses he’s pressing to their stomach tickling and teasing. He keeps going, humming idly as if he didn’t hear them at all. “I’m sure I don’t really taste like pollen.”

“I swear,” he protests, still tracing circles in their thigh with a finger. “Taste like sweet things. You keep bringing me that nectar, honeybee, I might never let you go.”

“Please don’t,” they sigh, and his wicked, soft smile against their knee is like sunshine in itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i just like gin nicknaming everything... plants... people... pieces of furniture


	45. Rose/Izuru/(s/o) 5

I know I talk a lot about Izuru being a voyeur but honestly?? Rose sitting back and watching while Izuru and s/o do things?? A Concept.

Izuru pushing him back into a comfortable chair and asking his captain to please, “pay attention.” Running a hand down his chest and giving him that small, proud smile that comes out a little choked and shy.

S/o doing the same to Izuru, just pushing him down into the softness of their bed, letting his legs fall open, his hands creep up on their hips, their knees straddling his thighs, leaning over him. Rose’s eyes fixed, almost unblinking, his tongue pressing against the inside of his teeth. Izuru reaching up to help s/o rid themselves of their clothes, his arms stretching appealingly, soft-edged in candlelight.

Izuru pressing kisses to their stomach, their ribs, their hands. S/o pulling their hands away to tangle in his hair, to tilt his head up and kiss him, smiling, as his hands wrap around their waist and bring them closer. Rose half-yearning, a part of the group, but distanced. An observer, as if in a theatre, watching the people he loves most without him. It’s a unique feeling, part loneliness, part warmth. Soft and melancholy, and delicious in its masochism.

S/o lets Izuru continue, his mouth traveling down their neck, their chest, and their head falls back a little, Izuru’s turns a little, and they’re both looking at him, including him, just a touch. But Izuru’s focus returns to s/o’s softness, and s/o’s eyes flutter shut with a blissful little sigh. Rose’s hands itching to touch, cock throbbing in his pants because it’s his own personal, tailor-made show and he’s aching with it.

S/o shifts, Izuru pulls off his uniform and they sink down onto him. They shiver and moan, their face is buried in his hair and he’s biting a red mark into their chest and suddenly it’s not just a show, it’s a vision, and Rose wants to watch it until it ends, every night for the rest of his life. He’s enraptured, entranced. Caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i take a lot of interest in the idea of poly relationships #especially in that strange dynamic of watching two people you love who also love each other have sex #like that has to be some ridiculous kind of turn-on


	46. Gin 17

I feel like Gin would really like having a plus size s/o 

For a bunch of reasons, but honestly just because he’s a stick insect of a man and he likes soft, fluffy things. Like that massive coat he wears in Hueco Mundo. He likes to be able to curl up into his s/o, wrap himself in them or around them.

Just resting his head on their lap and murmuring about how  _warm_ they are, tangling his legs with theirs and enjoying how much they’ve got to them.

Pressing his hands into their sides, their hips and whispering into their jaw, their temple, their ear, “you’re so  _soft_.” Kissing over every part of them and deciding which parts are the best to sink his teeth into, which are the best to tease and taste and feel give just a little more beneath his touch.

Shoving his nose in their chest because he’s cold and they’re warm and plush and he can just lie there and let them pull him closer. Spooning up behind them in the night and wrapping his arms around their waist, pulling them up to his chest and running his thumb over the soft, thick, fragile parts of them, all that vulnerability locked under his hands where nobody but him can get at it.


	47. Rose/Izuru/(s/o) 6

I think about the 3 by 3 trio a lot, honestly, and today I’m laughing at the thought of Rose being a truly unrousable sleeper. I’m not talking “refuses to get up before twelve” sleeper, I mean he is just about dead to the world for however long his body decides to shut down. Even if he’s only asleep for five minutes, he might as well be stone for all you can wake him up.

I imagine Izuru and s/o came to terms with it early on, learning to leave him where he lies and get on with things while he’s out because there’s no point waiting. Morning sex is probably an interesting affair with them, either Izuru or s/o waking up in a mood only to find one sleepy but willing partner and… a solid lump of granite.

They sigh and roll over and kiss, half-waiting for him to wake up, half-knowing he won’t. After a few minutes they know the likelihood, and begin in earnest. They lose themselves in each other, warm mouths and soft hands and slow, sweet kisses. Slick arousal and lazy movement. One of them might turn their head or shift their neck, chance to look over at Rose where he lies.

And there he’ll be, awake and eyes heavy, chin propped on his hand and smiling. “Oh, don’t stop on my account,” he’ll tease them. “I’m having a perfectly lovely time where I am.” His other hand moving steadily between his legs, slow and matched to the rhythm of their hips as he follows them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #im just cackling at the image #like just Rose! suddenly!! awake and jacking it to his s/os fucking


	48. Rose/Izuru/(s/o) 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-canon? speculative, because I'm not even done reading the manga yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for suicidal ideation, some grief

I feel like it would be terribly hard, for Rose and s/o, while Izuru is healing. Having a hole blown in your chest and then going right back into war with only a spartan patch job probably doesn’t do wonders for your health. He’s in and out, awake and unconscious, in surgery and on bed rest for a good six months. And during all that time, Rose and s/o are fighting out their own issues.

“He lost half his chest, Rose,” s/o sighs, running a hand through their hair.

“So did I, and I made it through,” Rose says without thinking, still too fixed on hope to think of hiding it. “They’ll find a way to heal him, too. They have to.” S/o goes pale, and reaches out, pressing a hand flat to his chest, feeling for holes, for gaping wounds or unhealed edges. “It’s fine, dearest, I healed. There was a whole zombie affair, and Captain Kurotsuchi helped and-”

“How often do you do that?” s/o asks, hand still pressed to his chest over the seam of what was once a star-shaped hole. “How often do you just lie to us about how hurt you’ve been?” They took a step closer, pressed their forehead into his shoulder. 

“It’s alright,” he says again, softer this time, sadder. “I heal more quickly. The hollow helps.”

“Rose,” s/o insists, growls, grinds his name through their teeth like it hurts them to. “You can’t do that. Izuru is- he’s reckless enough, I can’t bear to worry about you the same way, he can’t-”

“Don’t. Don’t worry about me.”

“How can I not?” S/o’s voice breaks into a sob. “I love you.” They pull back, tilt his head down to meet theirs, hands tangled up in his hair, pulling him close, breaking the line of his lips with teeth and force and tears. 

He pushes them back just an inch, just a breath of space to whisper, “I love you so much,” into the silence between them, and s/o’s eyes close, their face crumples, and Rose kisses them again, salt and spit between their mouths, slick and painful like blood would be.

They fall into bed like that, Rose’s hair wet and tangled in their hands, s/o still crying even as they kiss his cheeks, his eyelids, his mouth with tender, sweet desperation. “Don’t leave us,” they sob, hands fumbling at his robes, pulling layers away to bare his slowly fading scars. They run gentle, fearful fingers over them, tracing the wounds that should have been deadly, the blows that didn’t miss so much as fade away. “Don’t leave us, Rose.”

He leans up to kiss them, to wipe their tears away with steady, cold fingers. They lean into his touch, pulling away their own clothes so they can move forward, and the slow, burning sink of them onto his cock leaves him shaking like a leaf in their arms. They come together, shake and sway and fuck in the white light of dawn, half of the buildings that used to block the light gone, the other half damaged beyond repair. They scratch at each other’s skin, hide their faces in each other’s shoulders, sobbing and sighing and trembling their way to a moment of feeling and calm.

“I’m old already,” he hums into the underside of their jaw. “I’ve seen so much. I’m glad the world let me last long enough to meet you.” He rolls his hips under them, lets them twist theirs to meet him, lets them claw his hair from his face so they can see it. “I’ll be sorry to go.” He sighs, and that smile, that calm, slow smile that has always been so dear to them stretches soft and unrepentant over his face.

“No,” they whisper. “You don’t get to leave us like that.” They push him down, lean heavy on him and look angrily into those violet eyes. “What if you had died, Rose? What if-” their voice broke, lonely and cold in the silence. “What if you left me and I never got to say goodbye?”

“No,” he croons, cupping their face between cold hands, “No, dearest. I’d never leave you on purpose.” 

“Every time you get a hole blown in your chest and you don’t say anything, you’re saying you don’t trust us.” they say, and something in him clicks, something breaks, just a little.

“I’m not-”

“Let us take care of you,” they beg, and Rose goes soft and still again, their hands clenching on his shoulders. “Please. Let us love you.”

“Alright,” he murmurs at last, reaching up to press their shaking frame into his chest, into the hollows of his body. To pull them into the frail protection of his arms. “Alright.”


	49. Gin 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> needy sub Gin!!!

I talk a lot about Gin subbing but like never in enough detail and tbh the detail is the sweetest part with Gin

He’d get on his knees for his s/o, call them “my Lord” “my Lady” and look up to them with those pretty eyes open, because they asked, because they never get to see them enough, never enough

He’d let them call him all the names he calls them, and the sound of all that filth in their sweet voice keeps him shivering under their eyes, their hands, the soft touch of a fingertip paired with a name that makes him ache with humiliation and lust

He’d let them put a ribbon around his neck, crawl for them, just a short distance before they sink to their knees too, or run a hand through his hair and let him sit by their knee, gentle and waiting

He’d kneel between their legs as they sit in a chair, his mouth buried there for hours as they pull him away and push him back in, using him, letting him serve them, giving him a purpose that isn’t bloody

He’d let them gag him, stop him from teasing them for once while they do all the things they’ve been dreaming of, let them take control of him and make him theirs and smile through the spit-stained silk in his mouth as they take the pressure off of him, make the choice their own

He’d do whatever they asked, so long as it made them happy, so long as he gave them pleasure and pride and was of use, so long as at the end of the night he could curl around them and ask and get soft reassurance and gentle hands in return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tags on this one were just "somebody kinkshame me" so I'll spare you


	50. Gin 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soft? thing?

“You’re such a sweet thing, little mouse,” Gin murmurs into the soft expanse of their throat.

“Does that mean you’re going to devour me, then?” They sigh and stretch and soften under him, and he presses a quick, wistful kiss to their pulse.

“Never.”

“You said you were a snake,” they say, a hand curling into his hair. He lets his teeth scrape lightly over their bared neck before he pulls back, sits up to lean over their face.

“I’d never hurt you,” he says quietly, his mouth curled into a small, delicate frown.

“I know you wouldn’t,” they say, and they sit up, too, as if to reassure him, but he presses them back with a gentle hand, lets them sink into the bed.

“I am a snake,” he says, the words whispered into their jaw, slipped into their ear. “But I’d never swallow you. I’d curl around you,” he slips his arms up, under their back, presses his chest to theirs. “Keep you safe.” His face returns to their neck, teeth tugging at their soft flesh every now and again. “Make a home of myself and hide you there.” They can feel the cold tip of his nose pressed to their shoulder, the feather-soft hair resting against their jaw, their cheek, his hands curling into their clothes.

“You do,” they whisper, and a tear catches on his mouth. “You are.”

“Promise it’s true,” he murmurs, kissing the salt away from their face.

“Promise,” they say, and he smiles into their lips.


	51. Gin 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow I really love my man Gin huh

I feel like Gin probably wears layers all the time because he’s partially cold-blooded. His pulse slows and he literally falls asleep any time his body temp drops below a certain level. If he isn’t warmed up within a certain amount of time he becomes almost impossible to awaken.

With that in mind… if you think for one minute that he does not exploit the potential in every single “huddle for warmth” scenario… you underestimate him. One time, he and Byakuya were trapped in the mountains and Byakuya was subjected to three and a half hours of full-body hugging to prevent his fellow Captain going into semi-hibernation.

This becomes especially prominent if it’s him and his s/o. Out in the cold, he’ll stand behind them and huddle over them like they’re a living space heater. He’ll hold their hand to keep his from cooling and pull them to close to his heart to warm it.

One night, he’ll take them out to a secluded cave in Hueco Mundo- an alcove of stone whose only entrance is half-blocked by stunted, crystalline trees and sand dunes. The desert is ice cold at night, freezing and dangerous, and half the thrill is the danger.

“We should huddle for warmth,” he whispers impishly into their ear, and they squirm at the huff of his breath against their cheek. They push him down, flat on his back, and the weight of them over his hips is comforting, the heat between their legs and the heat between his meeting, and he can feel it rush up to his neck, can feel his nerves light at their touch. “They say the most efficient way to share heat is skin-to-skin,” he says, and s/o’s hands run down his chest, then back up, undoing his shirt. He sighs and arches up as his s/o sets to kissing him, the prickle of cold air on his chest and the softness of their mouth at odds.

“I could hardly let my serpent go cold,” they reply, smiling even as they lay their cheek on his hip. He can feel their hands, hot and moving, undoing his hakama, reaching into them to stroke him full to hardness. Smiling, he bucks his hips into their hand, arches his back.

“No chance of that, sweet pea,” he laughs breathlessly, even as they crawl back up to kiss him. The wind howls low and high, wailing in the distance. The trees rustle and crack, and it’s so cold. He shivers and his eyelids flutter, and s/o kisses him harder, presses closer. Their hands rub up and down his arms, and they fold him into their body as if they truly could warm him with nothing but their skin.

The rock and rush of their movements, hips meeting and sighs and soft, sweet kisses edged with the cold shrieks of hollows in the distance- all of it warms the cave, soothes Gin’s tiredness into calm, softens the cold until they’re both buzzing with heat and pleasure and each other.

“Warm enough?” S/o asks, pressing their face again into his shoulder, the scent of night air and sweat and him like a warmth of its own.

“Like the sun,” he says, pulling his coat over the both of them. “Keepin’ me awake.”

“We’re not sleeping here,” they tell him, and he laughs.

“Course not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i just have this image of Gin dozing off at Aizen’s giant meeting table #and they’re all trying to wake him up #and nothing works until s/o puts his coat around him and warms him up a little #i can just see him squinting around and squishing up like ‘why am i awake’ #basically one day im going to write a longer one shot about gin deliberately getting stuck in the snow so he can fuck his s/o #and that’s the dream


	52. Rose/Izuru/(s/o) 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just.... more sadness. It's all very sad.

Today’s third division softness comes because I literally had to read about Izuru being blown apart today and I’m just not happy about it folks I’m not happy at all.

I think after all his time in the hospital, being patched up and and put back together, Izuru comes out thinking he’s not quite right anymore. He’s missing an arm, a lung, a good chunk of his chest. He’s been sewn together, but those pieces are still missing, the prosthetic like an unfeeling piece of clay molded to the space in him.

Rose and s/o are by his side every time they can be, after every surgery and between spells of unconsciousness. They wait, and the fear in their eyes, the gentle, painful relief every time he wakes with a rasping breath, burns into his frail heart.

“You should go,” he croaks, and s/o’s grip on his sheets tightens.

“I’m not leaving, Izuru.”

“You should. You and R- you and the Captain, you should both leave me.”

“Shut up,” they snap, hands curling around his. “Just. Shut up. I’m not going anywhere.” He sighs, drifting back to unconsciousness, but he doesn’t turn away from them.

When he’s finally released for good, he’s a shaking wreck. He comes to the door resolved to get his things and return to the barracks, prosthetic pinned to his chest in a sling and a cane in his hand to help him balance. He hasn’t told either of them. He made sure nobody else did, either. The door opens under his palm, and he closes it carefully behind him. He walks to the room the three of them had shared, tries not to remember the sweetness of it, the absolute safety he’d felt there, locked up tight in their soft, strong arms. He opens the door with his one good hand, and is faced with the weary, thin face of his captain, which glows immediately upon spotting him.

“Dearest boy,” Rose breathes, moving forward, clasping Izuru’s face between his hands. His thumbs brush over his cheeks, soft and caring. “Oh, my love, it’s good to see you breathe again.” There’s a clatter in the room next door, and then a click.

“Izuru!” S/o comes through the doorway with a breathless exhalation, his name passing their lips like nothing else could ever matter.

They both come forward, their hands warm and their touches soft, surrounding him with such gentleness and such love that he can’t help but feel guilty. They’d missed him. They’d missed him so much it hurt them, and he had meant to hurt them again, up and disappear without a word.

“You’re so cold,” s/o says, taking his cane and taking up his hand to balance him instead. Their other arm wraps around the back of his head, the edges of the cane pressing into his back. “Come and get warm.”

They fold him into their bed, soft and warm and familiar, but he’s shaking still, and they come to rest on either side of him, a defense of sorts. A wall to keep him safe and untouched.

“Does it hurt?” S/o asks, pulling blankets over him. He doesn’t answer. “Can you feel when I-?” They wrap his hand in theirs, the prosthetic, and he gets the shape of their hand, the faintest press of skin. But no more. So few of his nerves could be salvaged, so few sensations of the person he loves, and he closes his eyes again.

“I can’t feel it,” Izuru admits, and Rose kisses the tears from his eyelashes, s/o presses the cold black hand to their face. He shakes his head. “I can’t feel anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose whispers, long, lithe arms pulling Izuru into his chest. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

“Let me go,” he begs them, and they pull away, just a little, because he’s pleading, but they see his face and return.

“Why would we do that, my love?” Rose asks, and s/o presses a reverent kiss to the tips of his false fingers, the knuckles and the palm and the finely sculpted wrist, so like his own, almost lifelike. Rose trails his fingers over the split of prosthetic and skin, the cratered, painful half-moon of scar.

“I’m broken,” he says, looking past them both to the ceiling. “I’m nothing now.”

“Stop it,” s/o says, and they’re the one pleading now. “Izuru-“

“I’m nothing,” he repeats softly, sadly. As if it’s an apology.

“No,” Rose says, all steel, all blood. “You’re everything to us.”

“You deserve-“ he begins, and s/o cuts him off.

“Can you feel this?” S/o asks, resting their palm on his stomach, and he can, almost. He can feel the warmth of it there, the faintest weight of it. He takes a shuddering breath and nods, and Rose kisses the corner of his lips.

“You can feel me,” he murmurs, his own hand gliding gently over the shattered rung of collarbone towards the hole, his fingers curling over the edge of it, hooking onto the place where chest becomes vertex. “You can feel me, muse.”

“You can feel,” s/o murmurs, coming up to his other side, their arm crossing Rose’s to rest in the unbroken ribs of Izuru’s left side. “You can feel us, and we’ll help with the pain.”

“Why-?” He begins, and they hush him, holding him that much closer, that much tighter.

“We love you, Izuru. That’s all there is.” S/o buries their face in his hair. “That’s all there has to be.”


	53. Rose/Izuru/(s/o) 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> remember when I was not 100% set on Rose being a massive sadist? what a time.

Today’s third at three, to top off this day of unrelenting shitposting, is about Rose being something of a closet sadist.

At first Izuru and s/o think it’s the other way around. The way he kisses them hard enough to bleed, the way he sucks in a breath after he pulls back, rubs a thumb over the blood on their lip. The way he fucks them just a touch too roughly, juts his hips forward harshly then smooths back into soft, slow thrusts. At first they think it’s an accident, that it’s regret.

Except then s/o cuts their hand, hisses and gasps and licks away the blood. They look up to see him standing in the doorway, his eyes wide, lip caught between his teeth.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” s/o huffs, as he licks the blood from their fingertips, digs a fingernail into the cut and makes them whimper. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

“It’s not exactly dignified, dearest,” he whispers, before biting at the softness of their palm.

Izuru comes home to a bloody knife and Rose’s lips red. He shakes his head and kisses his captain’s temple and mutters about how much money they’ll save on bandages. S/o pulls him into a kiss, and Rose’s hands twine into both of their clothes. They learn, as time passes. Izuru will arch into the pressure Rose puts on his bruises, s/o will go soft and boneless if either of them puts their mouth on their broken skin.

Things take a different shade, after the war. Not an unpleasant one, but one that’s difficult to maneuver at times. Izuru still blushes to see Rose’s gaze fixed on his wounds, somewhere between longing and sadness.

“It’s still strange to me,” he murmurs, even as Rose digs his fingers into the ridge of scarring that delineates his skin from the black, cold prosthetic. S/o tangles their hand with his, presses their face into his left shoulder, flesh and bone and skin. “That you can find anything to enjoy in this.”

“I enjoy all of you, Izuru,” he replies softly, scraping his nails over scarred skin, smooth skin, turning it all soft, heated pink. The gentle burn of red is familiar to Izuru, a memory of a thousand other nights, and by now it’s almost a comfort. “Even the parts that hurt.”

“I’m glad,” he sighs, and lifts s/o’s hand to his lips. “I’m glad,” and his lovers kiss his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders unrelentingly, and the half-moons of Rose’s nails press into the black of his arm, so deeply he can almost feel them. He leans into the pain and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i was thinking about the look on his face in that one panel #you know the one #my guitar is already weeping #that one #that’s a Look that makes me wonder


	54. Izuru 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a sucker for anyone and everyone in lingerie okay. Men women nb folks everyone, stockings are good on everyone.

Izuru in stockings and garters is such a fucking image. Some nice white lace, or sheer black, or a soft, faded blue to match his eyes. A hazy gold or peach-pink. Lilac or sage green, spring colors that warm his skin and melt the ice from his muscles.

Izuru, loose and relaxed, in a thin top and a garter belt, thigh-high stockings and a smug little smile as his partner walks in and a look of absolute want spreads over their face. Pretending to be absorbed in whatever he’s reading, hair touseled and swept gently over his forehead, pulled off the side of his face it usually covers. Lip caught between his teeth and legs crossed, the very picture of ease and pleasure.

“Like what you see?” He murmurs, and his wrists are pushed gently down, pinned thoughtlessly to his lap as his partner kisses him, bites at the same spot on his lip, pulls him closer with a languid hand in his hair.

“Very much,” they sigh, their hand slipping from his wrists to his thigh, running a single, admiring finger down the seam. “You make a pretty picture.”

“I think we’d make a better one together,” he says slyly, before deepening the kiss. His book drops, forgotten, to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #lingerie of all kinds is the best #I will live and die on this hill #tear me off it when I'm dead #the phrase 'looking like a snack' is absolutely relevant #HAPPY EASTER YOUR PRESENT IS IZURU IN PASTEL STOCKINGS


	55. Gin 21

Gin gets his s/o wet for no reason and that’s an absolute truth. He’ll work them up and let them sink into the feeling, stroke at them softly with long, clever fingers, lick at them with a knife-point smile and a heated, teasing tongue.

He’ll drive them right up to the edge of climax and then sit back, sigh. Lick his hands clean or wipe his mouth, just smile at them. “Well that was nice,” he’ll hum, grinning. “Really quite nice. Thank you.” and then he’ll stand up and walk away.

“Oh,” he exclaims quietly, turning, that smile more wicked than ever. “You’ll have to wait for me to get back if you want to come again in the next… hm.. few days? Be good for me, won’t you?” and then he disappears, off on a mission, out on Aizen’s business, out out out and away from them. They’ll lie there, thighs sticky and mouth dry and their tender, heated flesh aching for his touch.

If they fail, if they can’t hold back and reach for themselves, give themself the pleasure he’s forbidden them, he will know. Even if they did it miles away from home, alone, in the dark of the night, Gin will know. He’ll punish them, tie them down tightly and use their body for his own pleasure, wringing every inch of his own orgasm from them as if it was something he could steal. He’ll leave them for ages, yearning, bucking their hips into the air, wet with him.

If they manage to shove that need down, if they manage to wait for him, obedient and aching and still a little bit stung by what he did, he’ll reward them fully and enthusiastically when he returns. All the affection and pleasure he can offer, given freely and without reserve. He’ll sigh and tilt his head and lose himself, face buried between their legs and hands pressed against their shaking hips as he sucks and licks and nips and swallows them to climax, over and over again, until they’re sweaty and shaking, twitching and whimpering and weeping from the pain of it.

In the end, he’ll slip into bed beside them, loop an arm around their waist. Free or tied, blindfolded or not, soft or sad, he presses himself flat against their back and lets the warm between them sink into his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #the world's biggest tease #but you'll enjoy it in the end #if you can be good


	56. Izuru 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a little somnophilia to get you through the night

Today’s third at three is just this because I’m falling asleep as I type

Izuru, tired and cold from a long long day on patrol, fresh from a bloody mission or a painful loss. He leaves his sandals by the door, leaves his clothes in a heap on the floor, lays Wabisuke down beside the bed. He slides into bed, the sheets warm from his s/o’s skin, burning on his frozen limbs, his chilled face as he presses it into their hair. They sigh and shift and he hooks a hand under their knee, sliding his own between them, his cock pressed half-hard and heated to the back of their thigh, the curve of their ass.

His arms curl around their waist, his hands clasp to their stomach, pulling them flush to him. He rocks into the curve of them, his hips moving smooth and lazy, his eyes closing as he presses his face into their scent, as he lets go of more and more of the day. He comes, soft and languid, the hot trickle between his hips and theirs a faint annoyance to their sleep. He kisses their neck, their jaw, tightens his grip on their waist. In the morning he’ll clean them up and apologize and they’ll kiss his cheek and shake their head. In the morning the sun will rise, soft and pale as his hair, and he’ll be a little less tired. In the morning.


	57. Rose/Izuru 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was originally under a photograph of an eye with gold glitter smeared over someone's cheek

alright alright im finally going to bed   
but before i go 

Izuru after Rose gets ahold of him   
Rose is making... something in his office (probably for Shinji) when a burst of gold shoots into the main area   
he kind of peeks out to find Izuru standing there looking at the glitter on the ground   
‘Captain why’ Izuru asks   
‘i am. marking my territory?’ he suggests and Izuru blinks   
‘why are you marking your territory with glitter Captain’   
Rose hums and reaches out to smear a line of it down Izuru’s cheek   
‘we all like to write our names on the things we love’ he murmurs   
Izuru could wash it off. he should. he doesn’t.   
it’s not for the mind to tell the heart what to do when it comes to Rose   
the heart leads and the mind listens and gold follows


	58. Gin 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh, I love pain apparently. I really love it

Listen listen listen you know in your heart that Gin would edge his s/o like that’s just. It’s a given. He’d spend hours just laying around and touching them, working them up like it’s nothing, like every glide of his fingers, every hum against their neck is an accident, a meaningless touch. He’d make a game of it.

But he’d do the same with pain. Work his s/o up, light, stinging smacks or a low, rounded blow that leaves a bruise. Tip-toeing around the actual sensation, giving them pale edges of pain but nothing fulfilling, nothing harsh or full enough to make them feel it. It warms them up, their nerves rising, skin turning red but not yet itching with the burn of follow-through. He spends ages getting them desperate, sidling them up to agony, right up until they beg. Until they’re sobbing, crying out for him to please, please just hurt them. And he does, grinning and itching for it, he drives them over that cliff and keeps them falling. Makes their pain his pleasure and feeds it back into them like an endless cycle. Makes love to them with his hands and a knife and a flame, makes them sing for him without gentleness, makes them burn with his name and nothing else.


	59. Miscellaneous 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is more meta than anything but it makes me laugh

Earlier I was thinking about the different ways people would react to their partner red-flagging or safe-wording their way out of a scene and tbh it makes me laugh a little because like.

Aizen wouldn’t miss a beat. You’re uncomfortable?? You don’t like this?? He does. Tough. Your comfort doesn’t matter. Why do you even have a safeword? It means nothing to him. Like what kind of madness possesses a person to engage in non-vanilla sex with this man he will kill you.

Shuhei; mid-thrust: oh fuck was that- what do I- do I pull out?? Shuhei would be so awkward and earnest about it. He’d be all kinds of anxious. He has to pause for a minute and stop freaking out to understand. He kind of collects his thoughts and awkwardly slides his dick out of them like “whoops sorry babe give me a sec so we can talk.”

And of course Rose, who didn’t just read all the textbooks through the centuries, but has probably sent annoying correction letters in to the editors telling them where they made mistakes. His partner wants him to stop, he stops drops and rolls his way out of there. Lying next to them ready to do whatever, soothing them and asking them questions.

And then there’s Gin. Gin is just. He’s a fucking master at disengaging. He’ll be disentangled, partially clothed, probably have some tea or something in his hand, wrapping his partner in a blanket all “what do ya need? What didn’t ya like?” within ten minutes. The man has been playing out just-in-case versions of this scenario since day one and there is no way he will fuck things up any more than he probably just did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #this all came from the idea of Gin going ‘was it when i asked you to call me daddy’ completely deadpan to his s/o #like they’re just crying into his shoulder and he’s all *pat pat* ‘i won’t ask again’ and his s/o just laughs because that wasn’t it at all #Gin; who took notes from Aizen and got a couple tips from Shinji and probably read all of Rose’s diaries: safety first


	60. Rose 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the tags on this one were longer than the post

So today’s short and out of the blue 3rd at 3 comes around bc I’ve been thinking about how the way I see and write and interpret Rose has changed (drastically) and yet how some of that earlier softness remains at the core of him. Like even if Rose was the most despicable sadist and he only got off to actual bodily harm, he’d still be looking after his partner because he’s a lovely person in a lot of ways, y’know? Not every night is going to be him tying them up and whipping them til they bleed. sometimes they need a rest so he’ll make sure they get off softly and sweetly and then he’ll probably sneak away while they’re dozing so he can jerk one out to the mixed fantasies of them soft and happy and them screaming in pain like. You have to have a break every now and then and he’d be very understanding of that, I think. He’s a terrifying man when it comes to taste, but at his core he’s a gentleman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #it also gives him time to plan the next scene lmao #‘no the velvet can’t go over the antique coffee table that’d be ridiculous. it wouldn’t coordinate with my knife collection whatsoever.’ #i always think of Rose as being more hardcore than Gin in a way? maybe it’s because he’s older and he doesn’t have quite the same worries #Gin is always very conscious about consent and care and his partner’s wellbeing #which isn’t to say that Rose is not #buti think for him there’s a different history. the Rangiku thing is not swaying his fears the way it does Gin’s #Rose is also; i think; much harsher in his wants and needs #Gin wants to get under his partner’s skin and make them his and never let go #Rose wants to tear them apart and taste their blood and hear them cry for him #idk it’s 2 am im a little muddled #but i think about that a lot #Aizen is about Power; Gin about Pleasure; Rose about Pain #they all have different shifted priorities #and there’s a bit of interplay between them because I very much doubt that Gin didn’t look through Rose’s things #and of course Aizen er. taught him. I bet. #and Rose was even older than Aizen so like?? probably out there giving sex ed or smth at the academy #Aizen: im going to do everything you just told me not to #anyway #goodnight im tired and thinking bout different kinds of sadism


	61. Gin/Izuru/(s/o) 1

Gin/Izuru/s/o is the kind of clusterfuck of a relationship where Gin decides the best way for them to court his Lieutenant by fucking s/o on his desk and then inviting Izuru in when he knocks. Izuru looks at them, mildly surprised but mostly stone-faced, and then walks back out, closing the door. Gin has a great time listening to him lecture on why the captain shouldn’t be fucking his s/o at work, let alone in his office, and he was on duty, how could he be so careless? S/o still thinks they should have gone with writing him poetry. Poetry always works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Joke’s on Gin though because Izuru is a massive voyeur and what he just saw was enough to get him off for a month #Izuru; weeping: stop thinking about your captain stop thinking about your captain stop thin


	62. Izuru 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a Sucker for vampires and guilt over feeding from your s/o

Still thinking about Izuru dating a vampire bc that one was lurking even a year ago so of course it’s in full force now. He’s a giver, and he likes to know he’s helping his s/o, which means he spends a lot of time downing iron tablets like he’s secretly Jushiro 2.0. He probably takes better care of himself after he starts offering his partner his veins. Drinks more water, keeps his pills straight, rests when he can instead of filling his time with more work.

It almost stops s/o from feeling guilty. It’s an improvement, they tell themselves. Who cares why it’s happening, he’s feeling better. The dark circles under his eyes disappear, or they at least soften. His bones stick out less, his movements are less nervous, less panicked. Still, though. He’s losing blood faster than he should be. They’re taking it. The unhealed scars where he’s bled for them don’t heal as quickly as they should, and every now and then he’ll turn in his sleep and the bandages will shift and the prick of blood in the air wakes them. Half-hunger, half-disgust at their own senses.

Sometimes he’ll wake, too, startled by their sudden stillness. “What is it?” He whispers, and they shake their head. The blood seeping through the bandages catches his eye, and a fond little quirk of his mouth makes their heart ache. “Do you need-“

“No,” they say abruptly, and turn away. It’s jarring. Unfair. They can feel the hurt, the confusion in the way he lies back down. Facing their back, curled up tightly as if to hide.

But self-control only lasts so long in the face of starvation. They fade, slightly, eyes turning an odd milky grey, skin cooling to conserve energy, movements slower, sharper. He watches and wonders and they try not to fall asleep, for fear of what might overtake them.

“You can, you know,” he says one night, arm spread out, centimeters away from touching their back. “You can drink from me.”

“No,” they insist, muffled by the pillow under their cheek. “You need to heal.”

“I’m healing,” he promises. They turn, stiffly, and the sadness in his eyes deepens when they meet his eye. “You’re dying,” he says, and they shrug.

“I’m dead.” He leans forward, arms pulling them into his chest, and they fight it for a moment. “No, Izuru-“

“Please drink,” he says, and their face is so close, so surrounded by his skin. They can hear his pulse, the soft thunder of blood in his veins, and they have to swallow.

“No,” they say again, weakly. “I don’t want- I don’t like hurting you.” His hand cups the back of their head, presses them closer to his skin, holding them more tightly to his body.

“You’ll hurt me more by dying,” he tells them, and they shake their head. “Please,” he says, and they can hear the shake in his voice. “Please drink.”

“Not like this,” they say, finally. Softly. “Not from your neck.” Their hands are gentle on his face, though they both know how easily that same touch could crush his skull. Featherlight, they press their face to his. Gently, gently. Weakly.

When they reach for his belt, the sash holding his yukata around his waist, he’s not certain where they’re going. Idly, he wonders if there’s a vein in his chest, if they’re trying to keep blood off of his clothes if they want easier access- but they push him back down, kneeling on the bed between his legs. His clothes are pulled away, gentle fingers almost tickling the outside stretches of his thighs.

“Bend,” they murmur, tapping one knee, and he crooks his leg obligingly, folds it so they’re settled between his ankle and his knee. He waits, uncertain, as they stroke their fingers up and down the inside of his thigh. It’s a delicate dance, soft prodding from his knee to the untouched tender cleave of thigh and hip. Their hand settles, closer to his hip, and he can feel his pulse beneath their fingers, excited but steady. They feel it, too, and read it easily, mouth quirking up at the corner. “You enjoy this too much,” they chide him gently, and his own sliver of a smile echoes them.

“I enjoy it just enough,” he responds, hand tangling loosely in the silk of his yukata. He can feel their lips on the rise of his vein, and he has to clench his fingers to stop himself from reaching to their hair, to stop himself from knotting his fingers there and rocking his hips with every brush of feeling. The inhale deeply, filling their lungs with the sweetness of his blood beneath his skin.

“You always taste so clean,” they murmur, and he sighs, melting into the bed as they press a kiss to his thigh. “Like water.” The sudden prick, the tight, sharp shock of their fangs deep in his flesh makes him tense up, moaning. Then nothing, just a soft ache as their tongue laps over the wound, the strange, heated mix of pain and loss as his blood slips away into their mouth. He feels soft, too, the gentle rhythm of his pulse lulling him into calm. “Stay awake,” they murmur, running a hand up and down his opposite thigh. “Izuru, please.” Their lips are warmer, now, flushed with his blood, and it’s a strange, macabre affection he feels in knowing that. His blood is split between two bodies, his life no longer merely his own. He sighs, and the loss leaves him loose, soft, tired. They feel it, feel the safety fading into their mouth, and they break away, lapping at the wound to keep it from dripping. The bleeding stops, stemmed easily by a pad of gauze, a bandage quickly and tightly wrapped up the expanse of the wound. He feels like he’s drifting, like everything around him is cool and soft and welcoming.

“Izuru?” Their voice is gentle, sad, and he wants to soothe them. He knows why they’re sad, why they’re always sad.

“I wanted to give it,” he tells them, smiling, and they look as though their heart is breaking.

“You shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have let you,” they say, distraught, and he shakes his head.

“Feels good to give you what you need,” he murmurs, and they rest their head on his hip, fingers running over his thighs. “I wanted to give it,” he repeats, quietly. His cock twitches, and the ache of it, the redirection of heat and blood and attention, rouses his mind just enough to want it. They can smell it first, and a slight turn of the head means they’re both painfully aware now. “Ah,” he murmurs, flushing lightly.

They grin, lips a sweet red with his blood, and he can feel the sting of the bandage fresh on his thigh when their hands tighten over his skin. “Shhhh,” they say, reaching up to run one knuckle up along the underside of his cock. “I’ll be sweet.” The touch keeps his cock bobbing, flushed, in the air, weeping salt from the soft, flushed head. He feels light, a little dizzy, and when they place a kiss on his tip, he lets out a weak moan. “You’re so good to me,” they say, turning their head to pull their mouth down, and the brush of soft lips over his shaft, the wet touch of his own blood, the intimate awareness of their fangs- it’s all too good to ignore. “Let me be kind,” they whisper, and he gasps as they press their lips to the soft heat up the length of his cock- a deliberate kiss. He stiffens further, hands tangling in the sheets, grasping and whimpering. They hush him again, one hand moving up to rest on his hip, and he lets out his last cry as a soft, long breath.

“Please,” he whispers, closing his eyes and sinking back into the bed, “Please.” They nod, fingers rubbing circles into the jut of his hip, the hollow beneath. He can feel the wet heat of their breath for a faint second before their mouth envelops him, and he lets out a strangled moan. “Please,” he pants, as they hold painfully still. “Oh, oh-“ Their fangs are to the sides, and the brush of their sides along his skin is different, foreign, another level of stimulation. He keeps his moans quiet, his jaw clenched, his hips pinned as much as he can keep them to the bed. His skin is cold everywhere but their touch, the night air cooling his body more quickly now that he had less blood to keep it warm. Their tongue swirls, lazy and wanting, over his skin, curling around his length, and he whimpers. “Please-“ he says, and their name furls from his tongue like a flower petal, soft, extended. Delicate.

They suck, then, purposely, hollow their cheeks and sink his cock into their throat. They move, slow and careful, pulling him closer. They swallow, and he can feel his cock throb, pulse so much closer now that it was weaker. He whines, he shudders, he clenches his fists and keeps his hips from bucking into their mouth. He moans, low and painful, as he comes over their tongue, into their throat. They pull his yukata back on, soft on his skin, and tie it just tightly enough to feel secure. He feels weak-limbed, empty and softened, and their arms tangle around him as his lock loosely around them.

“Thank you,” they say again, quietly. He shakes his head and buries his face in their shoulder.

“Love you,” he says again, and they are exceedingly glad he’s facing away so he can’t see the mingled gratitude and regret in their face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #i am Still a Sap #I remain a Sap until this day #have I mentioned that I am a Known Vampire Lover #It's true I have many books to prove it #also i feel i should note that losing blood and then immediately having any kind of sex is not great for you #fun! but not great health-wise


	63. Rose 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hmmmm I love trust

Rose doesn’t break out anything heavy on the first date. Not on the second or the third or the fourth. He doesn’t broach the subject of sex, for the most part. It’s impolite, and if he’s not serious about his partner, it’s misleading. (Even Rose’s casual flings are intimate. Even his one-night stands are built on purposeful arrangements of trust and agreement.) He does not bring up blood, or bondage, or the feeling of a knife in his hand, even as he carves into his meal, even as he watches your tongue dart out to lick wine from your lips.

He does not bring up pain, or the touch of his hand on your wrist. He does not speak of the way your voice cracks when you cry. The first time you sleep together, the second, the third- he is careful. He is kind. He broaches the subject quietly, offers a gentle inquiry with a smile.

“We haven’t discussed taste,” he reminds you, as though he himself has only just remembered. “It’s been lovely, of course, but is there anything you’d like to try?” It’s casual. It’s benign.

It doesn’t quite disguise the vulnerability in his eyes.

You might deliberate, considering the question as a question rather than an admission of its own. You might answer, offering tentative considerations, hesitant hopes. You might be honest.

“What about you?” You ask, and Rose blinks.

“I-“ and there is hesitation there. Not shame, exactly, but a quiet acceptance of rejection before it even happens. “I must admit to some… less than delicate preferences.” You nod, and the half-smile on your face is more welcome than you know.

“Tell me?” You ask. He pauses, hopeful. He speaks.

His voice shakes, lightly. As a caged bird shakes when it is brought into the sun, as a hand shakes when it reaches for something. At first it is stilted, every word bridged by desire and fear. It evens, grows warm, fluid and soft and hypnotic as he speaks, as he describes the ways he dreams. He smiles, dreamy and hungering as he grows comfortable in the openness of your face. He speaks of his love for you, the way it twines painfully with his desire for vulnerability, the way he wants to make you weep, the way his hands ache to crack open your shuddering softness. He looks into your eyes, distant and yet unbearably present, as he whispers the things he wants to try, the way he wants you to feel, the way he yearns to shatter you, to cradle your broken pieces in his arms and stitch you together again.

His voice runs dry very slowly, the honey-dark smoothness of it drained to a rasp as he asks if he’s frightened you too much. As he wonders, returning to himself, if he has said too much, asked too much-

You shake your head, unsmiling but wide-eyed with selfish curiosity.

“I’d like to try that,” You murmur, cheeks red and body humming with the song of his quiet, bloody dreaming. “All of it.” You lean in closer to take his hand. “Thank you.” He looks up, startled. “Thank you for being honest.”

“Don’t do me the disservice of pretending that was selfless,” he admits wryly, face soft with relief.

“Then I like your kind of selfishness,” you say, and he shakes his head, kissing the back of your hand.

“You’ll like my altruism more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Rose and his very conflicted emotions are half projection on my part probably. and maybe half consequence of living at odds with himself


End file.
